Fairy Tales: rose woven
by Pout
Summary: [1xR 2xH 3xD 4xC 5xS] Once upon a time, there lived five young princes... An amalgamated fairy tales epic in progress.
1. Once Upon a Time

**Fairy Tales: rose woven**

**By Pout**

_Disclaimer: Characters are not mine. Apologies if their use in the following is in any way traumatic._

**Chapter 1: Once Upon a Time**

Once upon a time, there lived an old king, his lovely queen, and their five young sons. In a palace lined in silver, with towers capped in gold, the family flourished in wealth and merriment. As time wore on, the royal children slowly and surely grew from small boys to young men. They were all five handsome, all exceptionally bright and skilled beyond measure: princes of the rarest quality.

* * *

"They're off hunting everyday. Why, I hardly see them but for the supper meal," the queen lamented one afternoon as she peered out the window of her husband's office chamber. The children had grown so rapidly; it did bring tears to their mother's eyes to think of the time that had passed. How the royal parents longed to hear the happy laughter of youth once again.

"They are grown men now, my dear. We cannot expect for them to lie about all day. They crave fresh air and the thrill of the game. I remember; I was a youth once," the king replied huffily from under impressive stacks of parchment.

"Yes, quite right. But I wish they had stayed children just a bit longer."

There was a long, reflective silence, then suddenly the king spoke. An epiphany seemed to have struck him for he had stood up and leaned forward over his desk (carefully avoiding the stacks of documents) to stare inquisitively at his good wife. "Why is it that we have no grandchildren?" he asked.

The queen blinked at the strange inquiry. "My love, our children have not yet even married, how are we to have grandchildren? Although, darling, little grandchildren would be terribly wonderful..."

"Precisely!" the old king rumbled as he strode out from behind the desk to shout and wave his hands dramatically. "Call in the princes!" he hollered to his servants who immediately went scrambling. "Call them in at once!"

"Why, darling, what is this all about?" the queen asked as she came to his side.

In reply, the king merely gave a laugh of triumph; a secret ploy was undoubtedly hatching. So, within the hour, the princes were dragged reluctantly back to the palace.

* * *

The throne room was impressive in its splendor: high walls and massive doors, tapestries to be begged for, glorious glass paned windows that let in precisely enough sunlight, and the thrones themselves that effectively exaggerated the grandiosity of the kingdom rulers. But the young men, unaffected by the exquisite garnishing that they had come to be so familiar with, were more focused on their displeasure at having been so rudely torn from the hunt. They stood before their parents from eldest to youngest, all five. It is here that we make our introductions, let us begin with the eldest.

The first of the royal sons was an exceptionally poised lad, a model of valor and perseverance. They called him Heero, a name that proved all too fitting as the child grew. A master of the hunt, his aim seemed only to improve with each shot. He was the ultimate warrior: silent and stoic as stone, rarely ever perturbed. Those he came in contact with respected his unparalleled skill and intimidating calm. The voluntary distance that he adopted with most people made them wary and careful to stay in his favor. For the most part, however, he was a reclusive man, softening only for those who he either felt a strong respect for or knew well enough to have become comfortable with their company. And though he could hardly be characterized as ill humored or reckless, he was not without a hot streak. The temper he could let loose was more than enough to cover the mild times between its appearances, and everyone in the palace was more than relieved when it had passed. But all in all he remained fairly reserved. His seat as royalty seemed both appropriate and yet somewhat unfitting. He was more than capable of leadership and responsibility; however, his innately cold demeanor seemed an undesirable quality for a future king.

The second child, Prince Duo, was quite a contrast. Possessed of a ceaseless mirth, the boy was all smiles and laughter. As he grew, he too took to the game, with no less skill nor fervor than his older brother. But where Heero's instinctual competence drove him to enhance his already honed ability, Duo's natural talent for marksmanship and contest turned any sort of intense focus into a hobby rather than a serious pursuit. Indeed, he preferred to romp about and do as he pleased. And he could talk, my, how the boy could talk. Some said that Mother Nature was compensating for the lack of speech from Heero in the endless chatter that seemed to flow from Duo's mouth. He could talk himself out of any dilemma, or into any, if be the case. His sharp wit and sharper tongue made Duo's reputation as the clever jester quite well known throughout the court. This carefree, mischief-loving nature of the second prince resulted in many a practical joke (of which his phlegmatic older brother was too often the victim). But even the little prankster was not without a solemn side. His anger, if ever manipulated into presenting itself, could easily compete with the wrath of his intense, elder brother. But where Heero tended to harbor grudges for impossible lengths of time, Duo's anger generally faded quickly and easily, and soon he would be all smiles once again.

After Heero and Duo came Trowa, the silent one. Prince Trowa was quiet beyond the measure of the word. Speaking in polite, clipped phrases, he was an observer above all else. His bright green eyes shone with an innate curiosity mingled with repose and imperishable self-restraint. It was he who spoke the voice of reason through all of Duo's mischievous humor and Heero's unwavering resolve. But he knew that it was best to avoid the two altogether if they were in the midst of an argument. Like the rest of the brothers, Trowa was an exceptional marksman. His aim matched even Heero's, and some argued that he perhaps exceeded his older brother in the skill. In fact, it was Heero himself who instructed the quiet prince in all that he knew of the art. That his protégé had in some ways surpassed him, Heero acknowledged with pride and a carefully hidden affection. Perhaps it was all the time they spent together on the hunt that caused some of Heero's mannerisms to ingrain themselves into the younger prince. Not quite as reclusive as his older role model, Trowa gradually developed a distance that allowed him to observe as his calm nature dictated. Never one to confront or demand, the third prince was the embodiment of logic and reason.

As Heero taught Trowa all he needed to know concerning the hunt, the fourth born son strained to maintain his health. Prince Quatre was born a sickly child. The queen had labored intensively to bring him into the world, yet his struggles followed him beyond the womb. For nearly nine years, he was confined to the palace, never to step beyond the protection of its walls. He was faithfully kept from any activities of physical exertion that might compromise his frail health. During this period, the young prince excelled in areas not yet explored by his three older brothers who adored the outside world. Where his siblings mastered the art of the hunt, fragile Quatre mastered the arts themselves. A painter, an author, but above all, a musician, by the time of his emancipation, his skill at more than five instruments far exceeded tutelage.

In truth, though he was instructed never to leave the grounds, his brothers had been sneaking him away to see the sights of the kingdom for over a year before they were discovered and the prince was finally allowed free roam. The trips were made under the cover of night nearly once a month. The task was easily accomplished between the five boys: while Duo distracted the maids with his ramble, and Trowa dealt with the guards in whatever way he saw fit, Heero always managed somehow to get the gates up so that when the youngest of the five brothers came sneaking out of the palace with Quatre close behind, the five had clear passage off grounds. These nighttime excursions had instigated a bond between all five that would last them a lifetime, a bond that fused brotherhood, camaraderie and friendship.

Despite or perhaps because of his isolation during his childhood days, Quatre's disposition was one of extreme tolerance, amiability and generosity. No one could stay mad at him, not even Heero. The boy's sweet, genuine smile could crack stone. This happy nature ultimately drew him close to Duo who strove to keep him away from Heero's frosty influence. And so, the little blond boy remained cheery, much to Duo's delight (he found Heero and Trowa's quiet, cold natures fairly tedious). But that never stopped Quatre from developing strong ties to all of his brothers. It was Quatre who introduced music to his older brother Trowa. After teaching him how to play the flute, Quatre and Trowa became quite inseparable. When Quatre was finally allowed to leave the palace and join the daily excursions that the boys took nearly every day, he was very much lacking in skill as compared to his brothers, so each one of them took their turns training Quatre in the game. And while he did become one of the best in the land, he absorbed the ability less naturally than did his brothers. However, this lack was more than made up for in his fencing ability. Like Duo, Quatre was a natural contest hand. The foil suited him much better than the bow, yet still, he would have chosen his lute over his sword any day.

The last prince born was named Wufei. The boy was a scholar of the utmost dedication. He spent whole nights up alone in the palace library contemplating points of philosophy and literature, arts and history. While his brothers obsessed over skill, he obsessed over knowledge. For months while he discovered the wonders of moral philosophy he would lecture his brothers so terribly while on the trail that one day they actually gagged him and tied him to his horse that they might continue their way in peace. The incident quiet effectively cured him of the habit. Though his nights were spent in the company of books and maps, the daylight saw him among his brothers on the hunt or in the training halls. A good shot though he was, his talent resided in his sword. Quatre had the grace, perhaps, but Wufei had the fervor. Concerning his social disposition, in spite of Duo's earnest attempts to mold the youngest prince into an open and sociable creature, Wufei was adamantly aloof. He was not as cold as Heero, nor as silent as Trowa, nevertheless he was just as antisocial.

And so, these five princes, equally handsome and equally refined, stood in the throne room before the king and queen, each warily taking note of their happy, red-faced father, and their joyfully grinning mother.

"What's this all about, father?" Heero said in his quiet, direct manner.

The king frowned, suddenly grave. He stood from his throne and began to pace slowly with his hands locked together behind his back. The boys understood this to signal the beginning of an imminent lecture. "Boys," he bellowed, "when I was your age, do you have any idea what I was doing?"

"Hunting, perhaps?" one of the princes replied testily.

"Don't be impertinent, Duo," their father reprimanded automatically before continuing on uninhibited. "What was I doing? I was out courting your mother: bringing her flowers, sprouting poetry, and engaging in hard-to-digest serenades, all the while trying to convince her father that I was worthy of his daughter's hand in marriage." The boys cringed at the overly detailed review. "You boys are all grown men now. It's time you started acting your age." He pinned them with an expectant look.

Quatre spoke up hesitantly, "I don't think we're quite understanding-"

"You need to get married!" the king roared. "I want daughters-in-law! I want precious, little grandchildren that I can coddle and spoil! I want all of you married! Soon!"

The princes were shocked perhaps, but were more than ready to fight the decree. "Father, that is hardly a reasonable request," Trowa interjected with his trademark calm. The other princes nodded, figuring that this was simply another one of their father's crazy schemes that could easily be bypassed by the usual tactics. They were not, however, ready to face their bright-eyed mother.

The queen stood from her throne and went to stand before her sons, her eyes gleaming. "Oh, my children," she sobbed under joyful tears, "it is so lonely here in this palace with no one to pamper and care for. You all have grown now and won't allow me to do so for you." The young men began to fidget in discomfort feeling the edges of guilt creeping up on them. "What joy you'll bring to your old, lonely mother when you bring home your beautiful brides, to finally have women about the palace to keep me company. And it will be so fulfilling to finally be a grandmother; after all these years, to have children about again..." She sobbed a bit more for good measure. The boys began to visibly squirm. "My sons! You've all grown so; it makes your mother proud." She ruffled their hair and gave each a wet, motherly kiss on the cheek. In the face of the queen's motherly tears, each prince grudgingly nodded and returned her affections. Such are the manipulative powers of a mother, especially a royal mother.

"It is settled then!" the king announced. "The princes will seek the oracle first thing tomorrow morning!"

* * *

The next day, just as prescribed, the procession, which included the king, queen and their reluctant sons, made the trek through the outlying woods of the Royal Hunting Grounds to the cave temple of the divine oracle. There were three occasions that called for visits to the royal oracle: after a royal birth, at times of war, and when a prince sought a bride. As the party approached the end of the road, they came upon a vast clearing that opened up to a delicately chiseled cave entrance; from within the cave's black belly, an old man emerged and drew near them. He was a wiry old man though he stood with a dignified stance. In the slits where eyes should have sat there gazed back two shiny, glass marbles. In his right hand, he held a half-length staff with a chiseled knob into a branch of laurels. His countenance was one of wisdom and patience, a gracious knowledge. He bowed his head low and asked, "What, my princes, would you have of me?"

When none of the five would speak, the king shot them a penetrating glare. Letting out a small sigh of exasperation, Heero spoke in answer: "You already know."

The divine one nodded and raised his head, holding his hands clasped before him atop his cane. He gave his answer confidently: "Your brides lay scattered, some in far reach, some near at hand. Four must journey: two across the seas, two over the mountain ranges. The fifth must remain at the palace."

"Will this take long? Or will we be able to return before all the good game moves on?"

"Duo," the impatient prince's mother chided quietly.

The oracle shook his head. "That, I cannot see, my prince."

"Which two sail the seas, which two must cross the peaks, and which is to remain?" asked Trowa.

After a thoughtful moment, the oracle answered, "The first two must go east, beyond the mountains. The third and fourth must set sail across the waters to the west. The youngest must remain at the palace."

"And when must they depart, good man?" the king asked anxiously.

The oracle smiled tolerantly. "Immediately, my king."

* * *

"I can't believe we just got suckered into getting married," Prince Duo whined.

"And how come _he_ gets to stay home?" Quatre added as he flopped onto his bed pointing vaguely to the young man in the chair by the window.

"And hunt!" Duo added with envy.

"This is irrational and pointless," Trowa declared in an atypically defiant tone as he strode through the doorway. He nudged the figure on the bed. "Quatre, do you have an extra-"

At that moment, Heero entered, looking altogether too smug.

"You look... happy," Wufei observed from the corner of the room, putting down his book wearily. The older brother nodded affirmatively still wearing a smirk. The youngest prince continued: "I hope you don't plan on leaving with the express intention of _not_ finding a bride. If you come back empty-handed, father will be angry and mother will cry." Here he added an irritated sigh. "And don't think that you can just leave and never return, because father will have us out searching for you until you're found. And stalling would be just as bad, seeing how impatient father is. That's where Duo gets it from, you know." He paused examining his oldest brother who was glaring angrily at him, his smirk long gone. Clearly, his intentions had been just as his brother had implied. "Why, Heero, you don't look quite so happy anymore." The youngest brother smiled wide. Prince Heero growled and exited the room without having said a word. Wufei picked up his book and shook his head.

"Stop reading and give me a hand," Duo groaned. With a sigh, the younger man set the book down once again and went to help his brother tug some strange object out from beneath Quatre's bed.

* * *

The next day, the princes stood at the castle gates. As one they approached their father to receive his blessing. The old king stood straight-backed, beaming with pride. "We don't know when we'll see you again. Stay well. Look after each other," he said, looking to Trowa before patting Quatre's shoulder in paternal custom. "We await your return."

With a bow, the four journeying princes turned around, mounted their steeds, and made a slow (rather reluctant) departure.

"Father, I would accompany them to the main road," Wufei announced and the king conceded. Soon the five princes found themselves riding out of the palace gates just as they had done so many times before. Only this time, there would be no hunt and no return at the end of the day.

They rode in silence; each man deliberating their present predicament. For each, the prospect of marriage was undesirable and, in all frankness, absurd. At this point in time, the use of wives quite eluded them. Having lived, on the whole, independent and secluded from the airs of women, none of them had extensive experience in romance or any true affection of that sort. None had felt the pangs of heartache before, let alone any significant stirrings of want or passion. Their knowledge of love was domestic and familial, patriotic or formed of responsibility to state and kingdom. Romantic love was a diversion that they may have trifled with for fun on occasion, Quatre and Duo being notorious for their flattery and flirtation, respectively.

And so, this new mission rather baffled them all. For what use was a wife to a hunter? To a prince? To a king? Well, certainly, one kingdom could not be ruled by five kings. Nor could it manage well without a queen... or an heir. (They shuddered at the thought.) And so that was the collective logic. As men and especially as princes, the brothers had always known such a journey, the shift from uninhibited bachelordom to chained and shackled married life, would await them. However, they resented the disturbance it created in their orderly lives. The luxury they were given as princes, the luxury of seeking a suitable princess bride themselves, the luxury of following such senses as the pullings of one's heartstrings, became a paradoxical mystery. How could they "follow their hearts" when their hearts were telling them they didn't want wives in the first place? Thus, unable to make comfortable sense of their exasperating situation, the five continued to ponder their predicament.

"We may not meet again for many days, brothers." Prince Quatre spoke first. Though his eyes focused on the path, he was guarding the expressions of his siblings by the corners.

"I'll miss the hunt," Heero answered simply.

Trowa nodded and gestured to the juncture before them. "The road splits."

Dismounting, the group stood aside from the escort party to exchange a final farewell. Having never before been separated for such an extended amount of time, the brothers awkwardly approached the task of parting. Taunts, warnings, and a fair share of advice (most of which was lovingly ignored) eventually gave way to warm wishes for luck and speed, as well as promises to return intact.

"Very well then," Wufei declared as the round of brotherly embraces were completed. "Which way do you ride?"

"Quatre and I go left," said Trowa as the boys remounted.

Checking his bags once more, Duo gestured toward the expansive range of mountains to the east, "We go right. Brick's Passage is the quickest way over the Peaks."

"It's dangerous," Quatre said sternly. "Why aren't you taking the main route?"

Heero shook his head. "Like Duo said, Brick's is faster."

The second prince nodded. "The sooner we go, the sooner we're home."

"Besides," Heero added, "with the Faire moving in this week, the Main road'll be packed. It'd take twice as long. Even without the occasion, the ride would take over three weeks. Brick's will get us over in less than two."

"That's assuming you don't run into any trouble," Wufei added.

"Us? Get into trouble?" asked Duo as he exchanged smirks with Heero.

"You two are hopeless," Wufei snorted, though a smile lay on his lips.

"Alright, we're off. Now, don't do anything stupid while I'm not around to do rescue work," Duo addressed his three younger brothers.

"Shouldn't we be saying that to you?" asked Trowa with half a grin.

"Farewell, brothers," called Quatre as he urged his horse forward.

"Send word," Wufei shouted as the escort team split in two, one half following the pair headed for the sea port, the other half following the pair bound for Brick's Passage.

"We will," Duo called back.

"Take care of mother and father," Heero ordered, right before taking off at a steady gallop.

"No fair!" shouted Duo as he sped off with a slight wave of the hand. The two disappeared down the road leaving a trail of dust streaming behind them.

Turning back to the left road, Wufei watched as Trowa turned in his saddle and gave one last wave before the pair disappeared around the bend. Feeling decidedly lonely, the youngest prince slowly turned his horse around and headed out for a ride.

* * *

"What do you think about all this?"

"About what?"

"Trowa, we've been sent off to find brides."

"Oh, that."

Quatre waited, but no response was proffered. "Trowa," he prompted.

"Hn?"

"What do you think about it? And don't ask what 'it' is."

Trowa gave him a sidelong look. "What about you?"

Quatre shook his head, "Answering questions with questions; you never give straight answers, do you? Rhetorical question; don't answer that." He tossed a blond lock out of the way as he raised his eyes to admire the clear blue sky. The clarity he found there was antithetical to the turmoil the present situation had wreaked on his perfect peace. "Why do we have to do this anyway? Everything was fine the way it was."

Trowa looked at his younger brother and noticed the melancholy expression on his face. "Nothing is going to change." Quatre arched a brow in challenge. Shaking his head, the quiet prince smiled lightly and said, "We'll be married but we'll always be brothers; nothing can change that."

"But you know what they say: only a woman can come between two men."

Trowa snorted. "Well then, what can they do between five brothers?"

Quatre smiled, sufficiently appeased. With a slight chuckle, he asked suddenly, "Can you imagine Heero?"

"Imagine him what?"

Quatre had to laugh out loud. "Can you imagine him trying to court some poor, unknowing young lady?"

The older brother grinned lopsidedly. "I can't imagine him doing anything for a woman. You know how he gets."

Quatre chuckled as they both returned to the referenced memory.

Several years ago, while the eldest prince was still just trespassing on manhood, he made the mistake of appearing in public in full attire sans escort.

It had been a particularly uneventful day: the morning reception, brunch with some aristocrat or other, an afternoon filled with mindless "princess prattle," as Heero chose to call it (for the aristocrat had many daughters). After being dutifully pursued for well over two hours, the young prince firmly excused himself and stormed out of the palace gardens where the royals were having tea, hopped right over the fence, and followed the road where it took him.

Needless to say, the sight of their handsome and eligible prince striding impressively down their lanes drove the townspeople into a healthy frenzy. They somehow distracted the young man enough to get him bloody drunk and shower him with the kisses and affections of the local village girls. That evening, when a troop of royal guards finally tracked him down, he was passed out in the village tavern where four or five young ladies were brawling over whom had the privilege of taking the prince home with them. Because of that rather embarrassing incident, Heero had developed an instinctive wariness when around persons of the opposite sex. His treatment of women was never disrespectful, just not ever particularly gentlemanly. The idea of a romantic Heero was amusing and bizarre. His future wife would hopefully be a tolerant woman.

"But you know who I'm most worried for?" Trowa asked with a mock worried look on his face. Quatre made an inquisitive sound. "Wufei."

The blond prince grinned and nodded, "That boy's worse than Heero."

"True," the other responded, "but it's not his dire male chauvinism that I'm worried about."

"What then?"

Trowa chuckled lightly. "Once the neighboring kingdoms hear about our eligible younger brother, he's going to be flooded with royal visits. Now that we're all fair game on the royal consort market, every wearisome princess and noble's daughter we've ever met is going to come flocking back, not to mention the droves that will be showing up for the first time."

Quatre's heart went out to his little brother as he shook his head and said sincerely, "I hope he doesn't kill anyone."

* * *

Sally walked with efficient, purposeful strides. She kept the same comfortable, quick pace that had taken her down the back road out of her family manor two hours prior, just after breakfast had completed. Today, stepmother had discovered a sudden craving for strawberries and in so discovering, had sent her slave stepdaughter off to town with orders to fetch her a basket of the coveted berries from the market. Despite the mindlessness of the task, the girl set out without protest or complaint. The family was under the impression that the trip would take a good portion of the afternoon, six hours there and back: a frustratingly tedious journey to make on foot. They were unaware, however, that by cutting through Blackly's Wood, she could reach her destination in less than half the time. Strategically failing to mention this minor detail, the young maiden hummed a soft melody, looking forward to the swindled free time she could now spend perusing through the various stands at the modest, but bustling, town market.

Her appearance was supremely less than presentable. The servant rags that adorned her trim body needed washing and mending, badly. Her thick blond tresses were strategically twisted into two neat coils, effectively keeping the strands from pestering her face. Though its color was pure and its shine shone clean, she hadn't the time to brush it out properly in the mornings prior to breakfast and her housework chores, or between the errand running of the afternoon and the supper preparations of the evening. After supper, her chores about the house continued in similar fashion, taking her well beyond the dying of the light. Candlelight was allowed her strictly for working purposes only, and a girl cannot be expected to brush her hair in the dark when she can sleep instead. The maiden girl lived a busy and laborious life, a life not suited to her beauty and spirit.

Meandering down the road, her sharp ears picked up the sounds of something approaching from behind her. Turning to look, her concentrated blue eyes spotted a figure in the distance and she moved slowly to the right side of the road in anticipation of the horseman flying down the path towards her; riders in such haste never slowed for pedestrians. She pulled on a strand of hair that had somehow loosed itself and studied the line of wild shrubs and herbage that sprouted up gratuitously alongside the path. Crouching to examine a particular species of flora that she found especially beautiful, she heard the telltale clatter that signaled a galloping horse. As the noise neared her, she held her breath and squinted her eyes closed to avoid any of the hassles that generally occurred when one was left in the wake of a galloping horse and its dust trail. When the hoof beats slowed to a trot, a walk, a halt, the girl hazarded an eye and blushed foolishly when she found herself looking up at an enormous black horse and its expressionless rider. She let out her breath now and peered up at the stranger.

"Excuse me, would you be missing a coin pouch?"

'Tall, dark, handsome; and Noin says they don't make 'em like that anymore,' Sally thought as she stood to reply. The man was indeed handsome, far better to look at than any of the boys in town or the farmhands that worked the land with her. "No, sir," she said aloud, thanking God that she had managed a reply at all, "I have mine right-" Patting the large pocket on the right of her bulky second-hand skirt, she discovered it to be sickeningly empty. Sticking a hand in as if to make sure, her fingers made their way right through a giant hole at the bottom of the pocket. She looked down at the offending hole and her fingers that waved back up at her. Forgetting her company, she grumbled, "Oh, for cryin' out loud! This is ridiculous. This thing grows holes faster than I can patch 'em!"

The rider made a coughing noise and she blushed appropriately. "Would this belong to you?" he asked, producing a tattered looking white pouch with silver trimmings. Sally nodded and he tossed it down to her.

"Thank you," she murmured feeling horridly foolish. What would have happened if she had gotten all the way to the market only to discover she hadn't any money to pay for the fruits? What would have been her punishment? How many lashings? How much more work? She shuddered at the thought.

"Good day," the rider said silently before continuing on down the road. Watching as the rider gradually picked up his pace, she couldn't help but feel a sense of awe and immense gratitude. Where had this handsome stranger come from? What incredible luck that he happened to come by. Sally closed her eyes, standing there on that quiet road, and etched his face into her memory.


	2. Of Seas and Mountains

**Fairy Tales: rose woven**

**By Pout**

_Disclaimer: Characters are not mine. Apologies if their use in the following is in any way traumatic._

**Chapter 2: Of Seas and Mountains**

As night began to fall, the City was barraged with the usual influx of travelers coming in to find their shelter at local taverns, inns and lodges. Looking out towards the open road, one might have noticed, amidst the crowd of people and carriages, a proud white horse bearing his master purposefully down the road. One might have noticed the distinct manner, the distinctly royal manner, in which the rider held himself as he navigated the street traffic. Roaming about the inner kingdom for much of the day, the young Prince Wufei decided to take advantage of the fact that he was in his non-formal attire (everyday-casual, as Duo liked to put it), the type which he and his brothers were accustomed to donning before riding out to frequent a tavern. In fact, tavern company was precisely what he had in mind for that first lonely evening on his own. Pulling his cloak closer about his frame, he led his horse toward the Blue Clover. This particular tavern was by far the "best" local tavern in terms of brew and company. The place was always full to the last chair, morning, noon, or night. The locals had made it a societal hotspot, so though there were always a few drunkards lounging about, there were also plenty of dependable conversations to provide entertainment. In this did the prince mean to immerse himself.

Upon entering the Blue Clover, he was quickly greeted by the tavern owner, George, and his pretty daughter, Eunice. The daughter was ample with her affections, grabbing onto his arm and pulling him towards a seat, eager to see him comfortable. "Where are your brothers today, Harris?" the girl asked with an expectant eye.

Wufei remembered a time when, breaking upon the verge of manhood, he had himself been shamefully smitten with Miss Eunice. Having grown out of his partiality after learning her to be pretty, and only that, he now found endless amusement in the fact that the young lady was herself quite infatuated with his brother, Quatre, whom she knew as Thomas. Every time they visited, Eunice was quick to latch onto poor Quatre and while the blond prince was equally civil to her flirtations, he could not bring himself to return one speck of feeling for her other than a rising contempt at her attentions. Wufei had it under private confession that Quatre, in fact, thought her as mindless as he did himself.

"They are gone for a while, Miss Eunice." He watched as her face fell and she immediately swept off to bring him a drink.

He stayed there for a good many hours that night. He met a number of interesting folk whose faces and stories he attempted to systematically catalogue and save for future reference. Just as he knew he should be getting back to the palace, a room-wide conversation broke out that forced him to stay and hear it to the end.

The conversation began like this:

"And have you heard? The princes are all of them gone to find brides!" a man with a thick beard shouted out from the corner of the room.

"Gone?" another voice cried in mock incredulity. "Gone where? I've got daughters enough at home for them to choose from!" he shouted with a laugh.

"Until you sprout a crown off your head, I don't think the princes will care a tick how _lovely_ your daughters are, sir," a younger gentleman leered and the two began to brawl.

Above their noise, another man called out, "I hear they've all gone to the east by order of the royal prophet."

"No, they've gone off west on the seas. What say you, they all get swallowed in a storm?" another man wagered.

"Oh, shut your mouth!" the room cried together. It pleased Wufei to see that he and his brothers were still much beloved by their people.

"No, you have it wrong," came a firm voice at last. "Four of the brothers have gone, but the youngest stays at the palace."

"Well, what's the good of that? How's he to find a bride that way?" someone laughed. "He can't very well marry one of us!" The room burst into laughter and the broad conversation gave way to smaller talks and argument, mirth, and brawling once again.

Pulling his cloak over his shoulders, Wufei headed towards the door and back to his home.

* * *

After splitting up to successfully lose the escort party, Duo waited at the secret shelter he and his brothers frequented when going up Brick's Passage. It was an outcropping of sorts, protected on three sides and on top by an advantageous protrusion of rock. The spot was some ways off the path and thus was very good for hiding. Duo and his brothers had discovered it six years ago after being caught out in the rain while returning from an excursion over the mountains. Unfortunately, they had found it only after some three hours under the storm; they supposed it was fair punishment for sneaking out in the first place. The next morning, after arriving back at the palace and bearing an hour of angry scolding from both parents, the princes spent an entire week in bed, all five suffering from severe weather-inflicted colds.

Duo smiled at the memory and tossed the blade of grass he was fiddling with into the small fire before him. He and his older brother had conspired to leave the kingdom _without_ their escort team the night before. That afternoon, when they had come to Mourry Road, the path that would eventually lead them to the main branch of Brick's Passage, the two princes stopped the procession and kindly ordered the guard team to return to the palace. The captain assured the two princes that the escort party was to follow their princes "as far as they could." Duo then asked if those were their orders indeed. The captain once again assured them that they were. Heero then responded by saying simply, "Very well then." And with that, Duo set off at a gallop to the left, Heero to the right, and the team split in two to give chase.

Such exchange was common enough. Heero and Duo were good friends with Captain Miller and wished him no disgrace, and Mister Miller was enough familiarized with the workings of the royal family, and especially with the royal princes, to anticipate, if not expect, their peculiar actions. The escort guards did an admirable job in pursuit, however, there was not a man in the kingdom who could compete with the excellent princes whose knowledge of their country was five times better than anyone else and were better horsemen and woodsmen than any other.

Duo had arrived at the shelter just as the sun was dipping under the belt of the horizon, much invigorated by the chase. By the time night had truly fallen, he was almost on the verge of worrying about his elder brother who had yet to make an appearance. When Heero finally arrived, Duo remarked wryly, "Where have you been? I was about ready to send out a search party." Heero turned and looked at his brother who had laid his bedroll out and was lounging there easily as he munched on some of the dinner he had stolen from Cook; he looked quite comfortable. The two chuckled easily.

"So, where to now?" Duo asked, after Heero was settled and helping himself to dinner. "How exactly are we supposed to find princesses out here? I don't suppose there's a wild species that grows in trees, is there?"

Allowing himself a small smirk, the older prince responded: "The best way is to follow our emotions. Our hearts will be our guides. We'll ride together for as long as our emotions lead us down the same path."

"My, my, Heero. That's a pretty romantic notion. Emotions, hearts; and here I thought those words were strangely absent from your vocabulary." His brother ignored him as he usually did and continued with his meal.

That night, as they lay there in the dark with moon and starlight filtering through the cracks in their shelter, Heero said solemnly, "How long do you think we'll be away?"

In the darkness, Duo turned his head to look at the other man as if shocked by the question. Settling down again, he said, "I don't know, perhaps a while longer than we might want."

"I have no idea how to go about doing this."

"Well, don't expect any advice from _me_."

"I wouldn't take it if you offered."

"Thanks dearly, brother." Heero chuckled softly.

They lay in silence for a few moments before Duo ventured to say, "To think, this is the last night we'll spend in the kingdom as bachelors."

"Hm," Heero agreed before adding, "Poor Eunice and Penny."

At the mention of the name, Duo groaned and Heero clearly imagined him rolling his eyes. "Poor Penny indeed! The girl is insufferable!" At that, Heero laughed outright. "You're cruel to find humor in _that_ situation, Heero."

"She was quite smitten with-"

"Oh shut up!"

After Heero finished his bout of laughter, at Duo's expense, the younger prince asked, "Where will you go? How will you go about looking?"

With a sigh, Heero answered: "I haven't a clue." There was a slight pause, before he added, "Though I'd say _your_ best bet is to keep an eye on the trees, lest my future sister-in-law should be growing in one." The two laughed heartily at that before drifting off to sleep at last.

* * *

Over an expanse of swirling, angry ocean, a fierce storm was setting in. It had come about very unexpectedly only hours before twilight and had been growing steadily worse as time progressed. The captain of the Tritonstead was worried and his worry had the two princes in his charge equally worried.

"Wind's picked up," Trowa reported as he came down below deck to join his brother.

"Perhaps, then, the storm will blow over more quickly."

Trowa shook his head. "Even if it does, we'll feel the brunt of it before it passes."

"I don't think Captain Ewan will be pleased, but I dare say he will need all the help he can get." With a grim smile, Trowa followed the other prince up the stairs.

In the dark of night, the forks of lightning ripping through the cover of dark cotton clouds overhead were magnified in their awful radiance. Mingled in with the whipping roar of the wind and the growl of the agitated seas was the snapping bite of thunder. Straining to be heard over the din, the voices of the sailors and their captain struggled to carry over the length of the ship. Springing to action, the two princes were eager to pull their weight in the struggle against the storm. If the captain had any reservations about allowing his precious passengers to come on deck during a tempest, he wisely disregarded them and instead welcomed the assistance.

It was as they rushed hurriedly about the ship that disaster struck, literally. The only victim on a stormy ocean, the Tritonstead was singled out. A particularly violent bolt of lightning zipped down an invisible chord to strike at the ship as it was tossed up on a high wave. Torn apart by its power, the vessel stood no chance of survival. It was the beginning of a painful end for the Tritonstead.

Much of the ship was now ablaze with an intense fire that even the heavy rain could not douse. Having been at opposite ends of the ship when the lightning struck, the two princes raced to find each other. In orderly fashion, the lifeboats were released and men scrambled to escape the ship that was now only a sinking deathtrap. At last, Trowa made out the figure of his brother across a gap in the raging fires; the blond prince was helping a man off the boat.

"Quatre!" the older brother shouted. Looking over, the other prince raised a hand in recognition. It was then that the second bolt struck and broke the ship in half. Trowa could only watch in disbelief and sickening fear as the ship snapped and the sea they were surrounded by took his brother away from him. In the blink of an eye, Quatre was gone, tossed overboard and swallowed by the dark waters.

In his state of shock and panic, Trowa did not notice as a loose beam crashed into him from above and left him there alone on the deck of a burning, sinking, half-ship, quite unconscious.

* * *

He woke with sweat running down his back. His hands were clammy and filled with fistfuls of bed sheet. His breath came in anxious gasps and his throat constricted reflexively as an echo of fear ran through his body. The young prince was sitting up in his royal bed. The dark night seemed obtrusive and threatening around him. Clutching his chest, which was tightening from lack of breath, he stumbled out of bed and to the window, throwing open the shutters and swallowing the night air in gulps.

There was a foreboding feeling in his mind, something ominous, a warning of danger.

"Imminent danger, or a danger already come?" the young prince murmured. But the night breeze could spare no answer and so Wufei was left to stare up at the dark clouds with worry in his heart, praying for the safe return of his brothers.

* * *

The next morning, the sun peeked over the eastern mountains casting a golden glow over the kingdom and its people. In an orchard, underneath an apple tree, a young woman with coils of blond hair was complaining.

"If the woman tells me to feed the chickens one more time, I'm going to strangle her."

"I think I've heard you say _that _before," her friend answered from her position on the lowest branch of the tree. She tossed a shiny red apple down to her companion.

"Her and her abominable daughters, too," Sally continued.

"Annette really was horrible today, wasn't she?"

"And yet, they are my stepsisters."

"And for that, I am sorry."

"I think I deserve your pity. Hand me that one there, will you?"

"Sally, you've got another tear in your dress."

"Good God, I look ridiculous."

"My, this one is disgusting," the girl in the tree said with a wrinkle of her nose as she examined a half-rotted apple.

"Wonderful, give it here."

"Honestly, Sal. We're going straight to hell for this."

"Don't worry, Noin," the girl smiled up at her friend, "It can't be worse than this place."

Sally, the daughter of an aristocrat turned kitchen drudge and general slave to her horrible stepmother, was out picking fruits for the season's applesauce with her good friend and fellow drudge, Noin, a short-haired, ivory skinned maiden who had stumbled into the living a few years back. For the apple picking, there were two baskets. Into one went all the lovely apples that happened to hatch from their humble orchard. They were firm and ripe, red and fragrant. Into the other basket went everything else, everything else that could still be eaten without poisoning someone.

"I won't have her eating anything from my mother's gardens that is even remotely good," Sally said, brushing a twist of hair over her shoulder. "It's not as if they'll die from it. A few rotten apples; exactly what they deserve."

"Mm, these apples will make a wonderful sauce for _us_, though, Sally. The fragrance is tantalizing."

"Well, hurry it up, Noin. I want to get to the beach as soon as possible; it's such a lovely day."

"It often seems you do a very great deal of nothing for someone who does absolutely everything."

"If it weren't for my little outings, I'd have gone mad by now, I'm sure." Sally shuffled the baskets around a bit and declared: "That's enough I think. And if it's not… well, I simply cannot find it in me to care."

"You won't be saying that when the lashings come tonight."

"Very well, throw those brown ones down for good measure."

"You're awful."

"I want to go to the beach."

"Alright, _your highness_, I'm coming down," Noin said mockingly as she climbed out of the tree she had just plundered.

After leaving the baskets in the kitchen, Sally and Noin headed off for the beach. It was a long walk there and an even longer walk back as it was all up-hill when going in the reverse direction. But still, Sally was adamant that they go; she was looking for a particular plant that grew only in seawater and that required a trip to the beach. They walked in silence for a time, each happy to just soak in the rays of the sun and enjoy the beauty of the land around them.

"Noin," Sally said at last, "Do you believe in love at first sight?"

The older girl found the question very unexpected and said so, but Sally insisted, and at last she answered, "Love at first sight? Yes, I suppose it is possible. But, Sally, romance is never as perfect as one would like it to be."

"You're very dark with your words, Noin."

"Tell me, then, what brings about this question."

After a moment's hesitation, Sally adopted a bashful smile and she replied, "Yesterday, I met a man-"

"Oh, a _man_!" Noin cried with a mirthful laugh, "Indeed, this is serious!"

"Oh, don't tease me!" Sally objected. "He was a man; an absolutely handsome man. He returned my money purse to me-"

"He is rich then."

Sally regarded her friend with disbelief. "What makes you say that?"

"If he returned your money, then he is either very rich or very stupid."

"Or he could be very good!"

"I _don't_ think so," Noin stated firmly.

"You are extremely negative today. What has you so melancholy?"

The dark haired maiden blinked at the inquiry, then shook her head. "I am not melancholy, I just think it is a waste to dream about love."

"That's very unromantic."

Noin shook her head. "And life is very unromantic, Sally. So you met a man and he was so very _good _as to return to you your coin pouch. You will never see him again and you most certainly will never know him well enough to marry him. I'm afraid fate is as romantic as a shoe, so if I were you, I would forget this mystery man of yours and stop dreaming about falling in love with him."

Sally stopped short and glared at her friend. "Noin, your speech is very realistic, but very much without optimism. I do not continue on day after day in the hopes of growing old in the service of the Madame and her evil offspring. I will most likely never marry, but is it completely inappropriate for me to at least dream of a better way? A better ending?" Her friend set her eyes to the ground. "I don't know what tragedies of love lie in your past, but do not taint me with your bitterness."

Running her tongue over her lips, Noin swallowed and nodded. "You're right. I'm sorry. I should not have said that. Love is a very noble thing. Perhaps your handsome stranger will return someday," she said running a hand through her short hair.

Sally smiled again. "Let me have my hope, but please, there's no use in being silly!" She looped her arm through her friend's and they continued to walk.

When at last the sound of waves breaking along the beach reached their ears, it was some time in the afternoon. Noin went immediately to the water, pulling off her shoes and hiking up her skirts. Leaving her to play, Sally made her way down towards the weeds and foliage that grew along the rocks. As she searched for her herbs, the face of the handsome stranger plagued her mind. She could not forget him and she did not necessarily want to. Noin's criticism that morning had vexed her, but for more reasons than Sally had let on. Yes, she wanted more from life than it had to offer, and Noin, as a friend, should have supported her thoughts, not mocked them as she had done. But Sally was a sensible girl; she knew Noin's cautions and the hopeless future before her were as inevitable as her lashings. She did not pretend to aspire for anything too wondrous. No, she had no qualms with Noin for stating what was simply the truth. What annoyed her was the resurfacing of the secret.

Noin had arrived mysteriously at the manor a year and a half ago. She had literally stumbled out of the woods that bordered the manor territory and collapsed in an exhausted heap in the middle of the garden. Sally had taken the poor girl in and nursed her back to health. They had quickly become close friends. The one thing Noin had ever asked of the other girl was never to ask about her past. She had obstinately declared that her life had started the moment she set foot in the manor and anything that might have happened before that was never to be spoken of again. Finding the declaration a bit ominous, Sally had attempted to coax the story out of the dark haired girl but Noin was quite adamant. In a year and a half, all that Sally had discovered was that it had something to do with a past love affair gone terribly wrong. Really, she hadn't _discovered_ anything; rather, she had deduced as much. Her evidence was simply that with the mention of anything romantic or relating at all to love, Noin would adopt a very bitter disposition and a very sad air of melancholy. Often, she would run a hand through her hair and become very agitated.

The mysterious girl was a sweet thing, hard working for sure, and very sensible, but there was a shadow in her past that pained her to that very day. And even if it took her the rest of her life, Sally vowed to find out what that shadow was.

Meditating on these thoughts, the blond was so startled when she heard the voice to her left that she nearly screamed out loud. Looking down the side of the small cliff she had climbed, she spotted a man washed up onto the beach with a large piece of driftwood clutched under his arm. He was moaning horribly and looked very ill.

Recovering from her surprise, Sally's instincts kicked in at last and she found herself scampering back down the cliff to help the man, all the while yelping for Noin to come to her aide. When she reached him she found the man to be at once very cold and very feverish.

"Oh, please don't be a convict," she mumbled under her breath before flipping him over onto his side so that he might drain himself of the seawater he had swallowed. As he was retching involuntarily, Noin arrived with a mixture of surprise and fear in her countenance. "Don't just stand there, help me!" Sally cried as the two of them endeavored to drag the man further onto shore and away from the cold ocean that had brought him there.

"Who do you suppose he is? What's he doing here washed up like that?" asked Noin.

"I have no idea, but we'd better find somewhere to keep him."

"What?!" Noin cried incredulously.

"We can't just leave him here; he's half drowned."

"Surely not, but… what do you intend to do with him? Shouldn't we fetch a doctor or someone?"

"Who? And we haven't enough money for a doctor; who would come? Besides, I can treat him."

"Can you stake a man's life on it?" demanded Noin. Sally met her eyes then nodded. The older girl pursed her lips for a moment before conceding. "Fine, we'll take him to Old Man William's woodshed."

"That's abandoned, isn't it?"

"Precisely," Noin answered as they continued to drag the man back up the beach.

Sally stifled a groan. "Oh, I wish he weren't so heavy."

* * *

When they finally got the man situated in the abandoned woodshed, the sun was already some ways past the horizon. Lighting the old lantern that still hung beside the door, Sally debated over which was worse: staying the night out of the manor, or returning to face her inevitably brutal punishment. If the evil witch discovered she was gone, then a quick investigation would indicate that Noin had disappeared along with her. If she went back, however, her stepmother would occupy herself with the beating and forget all about the rest of her servants. Better one beating than two.

"I'm going back," she declared at last.

Noin raised a skeptic eyebrow. "You must have some kind of death wish."

Sally laughed flippantly. "She won't notice that you're gone, and the others are probably covering for you, so stay the night and watch him," she directed as she wrapped her dirty, old shawl around her shoulders and opened the door to go.

"And tomorrow?"

Sally bit her lip. "If he's not awake by tomorrow night, then we're going to have to find a doctor."

"And how are we going to do that?"

Sally was determined. "I'll steal it from Madame if I have to."

"Is he worth it?"

"Every person's life is."

Noin was shaking her head. "You'd better get going and start thinking of an excuse."

"I fell into the lake, was attacked by a sea monster, and had to be rescued by a frog since I'm not supposed to know how to swim."

"Get going already," Noin laughed.

Just as Sally was about to step out the door of the old shed, a groan came from their unconscious patient. Noin shrieked and leapt out of her seat beside the makeshift bed of hay and grass. In an opposite response, Sally threw off her shawl and rushed to the man's side.

He thrashed about for a few moments until suddenly, his eyes flew open. They were feverish and full of pain. "Quatre..." he whispered. "Quatre," he said, his voice rising with delirious fear.

Noin shuffled closer, her hand over her lips to keep from screaming.

"Quatre," he cried again.

"Do you think that's his name?" Noin asked in a breathless whisper.

Sally turned around and looked at her incredulously. "Why in the world would anyone moan their own name?"

"Quatre!"

"It must be someone he knows, maybe a friend or a relative."

"Quatre? Isn't that one of the princes?" asked Noin.

The man's eyes slid shut and he sank back into the grasses as unconscious as ever. They sat there watching him for a while longer, as if they expected him to wake again. When it was clear he would provide no more theatrics, Sally gathered up the shawl she had shrugged off, swung it back around her shoulders and headed once again for the door.

"I'll be back tomorrow as soon as I can," she said. "He should be relatively unconscious for the rest of the night. You'll be alright here by yourself?"

Noin nodded. "Will you be alright finding your way back?"

"Oh, please," Sally laughed confidently, "I could find my way back to the manor deaf and blind. Besides, the moon's casting good light. I should be fine. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Watch what you say to the Madame, Sally. Please? For your sake?"

Sally shook her head. "I'll try, Noin, but you know I can't ever help myself." With a wave, she stepped out into the night and headed back towards her father's house.

* * *

"At this pace, we should be over the pass in another week or so."

"Less if we weren't always stopping to eat."

"I'm a growing boy, Heero."

"And I'm a horse's ass."

Duo nodded. "Yes, I would agree with that statement."

Heero sent him a trademark glare then turned to cast an eye out over the forest landscape. "Once we're through the pass, where will you head to?"


	3. The Doctor's Patient

**Fairy Tales: rose woven**

**By Pout**

_Disclaimer: Characters are not mine. Apologies if their use in the following is in any way traumatic._

**Chapter 3: The Doctor's Patient**

Noin waited patiently all morning. The sun had risen, finding the impromptu nurse warily dozing in the corner furthest away from the potential escaped convict. When noon rolled around, the stranger was still unconscious, but Sally had yet to make her appearance. Letting out a defeated sigh, Noin sank down into the brittle hay that was her seat and imagined what horrid scenes would have been played out the night before at the manor. The Madam would not have been negligent with her switch. Sally would be black and blue and likely very bloody when she showed up.

The raven-haired drudge let her mind drift, bitterly surprised when it flitted to memories of better times: the bluest of blue skies, cloud watching, a time when she had laughed and smiled from her heart and had been convinced that the world was made of sunbeams and rainbows. Shaking her head admonishingly, she pushed the history away and focused on the new life she had come into. To say she had 'made it for herself' would have been wrong, would have been cruel even. She did not particularly enjoy her life as a slave, and seeing her friend take beatings from the lady of the house was neither pleasant nor fair. But life was seldom fair. She ran a hand through her cropped locks and trembled as emotions ran through her.

The man in the hay groaned and shifted causing Noin to start. As she stood up to take a closer look at him, the door behind her slowly creaked open and weary feet shuffled across the threshold. Noin looked up and cringed.

Sally was absolutely pallid. The blond maiden cracked a wry half-grin, which was as much as she could have managed. "She was not happy to see me," she whispered, for it hurt too much to breathe more than that. "I'm sorry it took me so long to get here. And it looks like I'm going to have to start heading back soon anyhow."

"Let me see your back. Did you bring the salve?"

"Of course," Sally replied as she gently let her shawl drop and her shirt peel off from her bloodied back. Pulling her shawl up to cover her exposed front, she let Noin tend to her lacerated back.

"Didn't anyone look after you last night?" Noin asked. "They still look raw." She touched one of the red welts and frowned when Sally hissed and pulled away.

Sally gave a puff, a sorry replacement for a laugh. "Got locked up."

Noin shook her head angrily. "We should have just left him."

"Don't say that," Sally said weakly, though her tone of voice conveyed her convictions.

"It wasn't just for staying out late, was it?"

Sally puffed again, and winced in pain when Noin began to apply the disinfectant salve. "I guess not. Maybe it had something to do with my calling Isabella a dog's mother."

"I doubt it was worth this, Sally."

"Actually, her face went livid. I don't know; it was kind of fun seeing her imitate a goldfish."

"Honestly, Sally."

The wincing girl changed the subject. "So, how is our patient?"

"_Your_ patient," Noin corrected, "is as he was last night. He hasn't woken up since, though his fever has gone down a bit."

"Did he say anything else in his sleep?"

"Not a word. Who do you think he is?"

"He kept saying 'Quatre' last night," Sally mused.

The other woman laughed outright. "Don't tell me you think he's a prince."

"How many other Quatres have you heard of?" Sally scowled. "Maybe he's not a prince himself. Maybe he's one of the prince's guards or something."

"And when he wakes up, he'll be so grateful, he'll fall in love with you and sweep you away to a better life, right?"

"No, he'll take up arms and help me dethrone my evil step-mother."

"Very romantic notion, Sally."

"We've had this talk."

Noin waved it off. "He _is _handsome, I guess."

"I guess?" Sally asked wincing and arching an eyebrow simultaneously.

"I've seen better," Noin remarked offhandedly, blinking when she realized exactly what she had just said.

Sally's eyes widened and she was about to demand an explanation when the stranger began to rouse from his sleep. Noin went to tend to him as Sally slowly hobbled over, holding the shawl up around her chest. "He's waking up."

* * *

He felt groggy and disoriented, as if he had been slammed up against a brick wall a couple thousand times. His muscles felt cold and numb. A first cautious attempt at opening his eyes resulted in an influx of sunlight too painful to deal with, so he squinted them closed again. That's when he heard the voices: two females, and close by.

"He's waking up," he heard one of them say. Was he really waking up? He hoped not. Something told him that he would not like the surprises that came with consciousness.

"Hey, you," the other female said cautiously. "Wake up now. Come on. Open your eyes."

"Noin," the first voice reprimanded. "Don't just _order_ him to wake up."

"So I should shake him or something, too?"

"No! Just let him wake on his own. We don't know how long he was stranded there, or how long he might have been in the water. He probably doesn't feel all that well, I'm guessing."

"Perceptive, Sally. Really."

Before they could continue their easy banter, he decided it would be best to assess his current situation, meaning he would have to open his eyes. Letting them slide open slowly, he caught glances of two concerned faces between the blinking of his lashes. By the time his pupils had adjusted to the light, he had already evaluated his caregivers, if indeed they were caregivers and not captors.

The one closest to him was a dark haired girl. She looked a bit afraid of him, but also had the lines of worry etched on her face. The other was clutching a ratty shawl over her chest and looked almost as bad as he felt. Her arms were liberally covered with angry red lashes and her face was utterly pale. Her locks were tied hastily, a small amount of blood having dried onto the blond strands. Their garb told him they were people of low class standing: servants or peasants at the least.

He opened his mouth to speak but ended up coughing instead. The dark haired girl knelt by his side to help him as he struggled to sit up. She patted his back as he continued to hack away. He coughed in earnest, feeling more and more lightheaded with the action until at last his lungs settled down and he sat there trying to get the world to stop pitching and rolling.

"Feeling better?" a voice asked and he turned to see the blond girl staring down at him intently. "You don't look too good."

He took a long moment to process the statement, and as the other girl seemed about to say, 'Well, maybe he's _slow_,' he managed to reply, "You don't look too good yourself."

The girl stepped back in surprise and subsequently flinched as her body protested the sudden movement. It was then that the blond seemed to realize that she was technically topless and subsequently blushed from the roots of her hair to the tips of her clenched fingers, fingers that clutched nervously at her loose shirt. "Turn around!" she ordered. All the sympathy and concern had abruptly left her.

The other girl chuckled with him as he turned his head around to face the shed wall. He listened to the sound of cloth swishing, then a muffled cry of pain before the dark haired one clucked her tongue and went to help. After a few more minutes, he was finally allowed to turn around. The blond was settled on the ground beside him, now fully dressed but arching her back cautiously, and the other girl was standing by the door. "I'm going to go get some water from the well," she said, "Scream if you need me."

Scream? The man found the implications of that statement rather amusing seeing as how he could barely sit up on his own let alone attack the only people who could help him.

The blond leaned over and felt his forehead and he vaguely heard her declare that his fever still had not broken and that she'd see to getting some herbs for a tea. He began to feel lightheaded again and after a few moments, he found that he was suddenly falling backwards. The girl had to scramble to catch him in her welted arms, and he could tell it hurt her back when she moved too quickly so he really did feel very badly about that. However, by the time she had laid him down in the hay, his eyes were already closed as he dreamed about a boy with light hair and blue eyes.

* * *

He slept all day and through the night. Every once and awhile, the older girl would wake him up to pour a bitter tasting brew down his throat. By dawn the next morning, his fever had broken and was gradually dissipating. When the blond showed up, he was awake and aware of his surroundings.

"So, how are we feeling today?" she asked.

"I feel much better. Thank you. How are _you_?" He noticed that she still stood painfully straight in order to keep her shirt free from her back.

She seemed slightly taken aback by the question but answered anyhow. "Same as always, I suppose." He wasn't quite sure what to do with that. "Are you hungry?" she asked. He nodded. She turned to the other girl and said, "Bring some of that bread over here." The one who had stayed with him all night handed him a portion of the bread and a bit of cheese to go with it. "There's not much. The old witch has been watching the pantry," the blond said to the other girl.

"Did she try to whip you again?"

"No. She was too busy entertaining her guests," was the reply coupled with a full roll of the eyes. She turned to her patient and shoved a cup of the bitter tea in his hand. "Drink up. You've still got a slight fever." He nodded and drank obediently. When he handed her the empty cup, she looked at him with a generous smile and bright, curious eyes. "So, who are you exactly?"

His green eyes stared back unwaveringly as he answered: "I don't know."

* * *

"Great. What do we do now?" Noin complained. The two girls stood by the door of the shed conferring in hushed tones.

Sally looked perplexed. "I don't know. I don't have any herbs that fix lost memory."

"What if we hit him over the head?"

"What?!"

"Well, when Frederick slipped on that wet rock down by the creek and hit his head, he forgot who he was for a while, then the second time he slipped, he knocked his head again and then he was perfectly fine."

Sally let out a frustrated sigh. "The man's lost his memory, that's all. His brain is still in the right place."

"Are you sure?"

"Noin!"

"If you're sure..."

"I'm sure!" They looked back at the man with no name and discovered that he was watching them. They flushed and turned back around. "Ok," Sally continued quietly. "He's lost his memory. If we just give it some time, it'll probably just come back on its own."

"What if it comes back and he remembers that he's a murderer and decides to kill us?"

"You are such a pessimist!" Sally hissed.

"And you're being too naïve!"

"We're _not_ gonna knock him over the head."

"Fine. But if he kills me while you're gone-"

"Noin!"

"-you're gonna regret it."

"Are you done?"

Noin nodded.

* * *

He watched as the two girls walked back over to him and seated themselves a little over an arm's length away from him. They sat in silence for a moment just staring at one another before the blond took a breath and said decisively, "I'm Sally. This is Noin."

He nodded respectfully. "Sally, Noin, thank you for all you've done for me. I'm sorry I don't have a name to offer in return."

Sally pursed her lips. "Well," she began hesitantly, "the night before last, you were calling for someone named 'Quatre.' Does that sound at all familiar?"

He considered it for a moment before shrugging uncertainly and shaking his head.

"We found you on the beach. You washed up with a plank under your arm. Do you remember if you were sailing? Maybe you're a sailor. Can you remember being at sea?"

Flashes of black waters and a fiery vessel flitted through his mind like blades of grass on the wind, slipping through the grasp of his mind before he could properly place them. Again, he shook his head.

"Well," Noin said, "do you remember if you've ever killed anyone?"

"Noin!"

They spent another third of an hour trying to prod his memory into reactivating with no results, after which Sally declared that it was time for her to return to the manor, taking Noin back with her as well. "The Madame will notice if she's gone much longer. We'll come back tomorrow to see how you're doing and bring you some food. When you're feeling better, we'll sneak you into our old servant quarters. The Madame sold off some of our people so those rooms aren't in use anymore. No one will notice you there and Noin and I won't have to trek so far to see you."

He nodded and expressed his deepest gratitude for everything they were doing for him. Noin smiled slyly and quipped: "Now, you keep that in mind in case you get the urge to murder one of us."

Sally rolled her eyes and added: "And remember, if you do plan to murder _one_ of us, _I_ was the one who thought to pull you out of the water in the first place. _She_ would've just left you there."

The two young ladies continued to argue even as they walked out of the shed and started on their way home.

* * *

Four days later, just as the sun slipped out of sight, three figures huddled behind a row of bushes that hedged the manor.

"It's about supper time so everyone is heading inside. Sally and I have to go wait on Madame and her girls."

Sally nodded as she picked up her skirts to head inside. "Basically, when you hear her hollering about more bread or more salt, then the coast is clear. Remember, don't let anyone see you." He nodded and she took off for the house.

Noin added, "I'll open the window when they're all seated. Here's the key to the rooms. One of us will bring you something to eat later on."

He took the key and pocketed it. "Thank you."

Noin shook her head. "Not at all. Sally and I still can't agree on your new name, but I'm hoping tonight she'll break. Goodbye, Jack." With a wave, she dashed across the orchard to the house.

'Jack' leaned with his back against a tree and prepared to wait. It had been days since he was rescued by these two silly girls. They had nursed him back to health and made arrangements for him to stay at their manor, an effort that he knew would get both girls into considerable trouble if someone found out about it. He was eternally grateful.

The two had been arguing over what name to call him by for the past few days. Sally was partial to names like Christopher and Pierre, while Noin seemed to favor plainer names like Will and Adam. Last night they had come to a shaky compromise with either Peter or Jack. Of course, Noin preferred Jack while Sally was hell-bent on Peter, so he was still nameless, though he now responded to both Peter and Jack depending on who was talking.

He spotted a baby rabbit making its way slowly through a row of cabbages. He watched as it nibbled and sniffed and hopped about. The animal was still young, indicating that the mother should have been close by, however he couldn't spot a parent anywhere.

The window to the dining hall slipped open just as a shrill voice called out for more salt. Though it was dampened by the distance between the manor and where he stood waiting, the demand was nevertheless clearly discernable. He was impressed that anyone could scream so loudly on a regular basis. Not wasting any time, he darted out of the brush and headed for the servant quarters where he would be staying. On his way, he passed by the cabbage field momentarily and coaxed the little rabbit into his hands before sprinting the remaining distance to the shelter.

It took a moment to get the key to turn, for the lock was well rusted, but eventually the door swung open to his temporary home. He closed the door behind him and headed for the back room as he was instructed to do. The room was angled away from the manor so that he would be able to light a lantern without anyone being aware of his presence unless they were out on the grounds. Of course, the Madame and her daughters never roamed their property so that wasn't a problem.

He pushed open the door and looked into a moderately sized room that showed signs of use and age. There was an old mattress in the corner and a lamp beside the door that still had a bit of oil left in it. Setting the little rabbit on the floor, he lit the lamp and let the room fill with the light of a small flame. He peeled off the coat he was wearing which the girls had pilfered for him and set it down on the bed. In the opposite corner, there was a chair and table, both of which rocked slightly on uneven legs. Other than those meager furnishings, the room was bare. He decided it suited him fine and bent down to pick up the rabbit.

He set the creature on the table and stared into his little black eyes. "You shouldn't eat other people's cabbages," he admonished in an unpersuasive tone. He tapped its ears and it took a small hop towards him. Picking the bunny up, he took the few steps towards the bed and sprawled down on top of the old mattress, settling the little rabbit on his stomach. He decided to rest his eyes for a few moments.

Later, when Sally knocked quietly on the door to his room and received no answer, she pushed the door open a ways to find her patient, along with a little, furry, gray rabbit, sleeping fitfully in the corner. As she approached, the rabbit stirred, waking the man from his slumber. Startled, his eyes flew open and he almost bolted upright before remembering the little animal stirring on his shirt.

"Sorry to wake you, Peter," Sally greeted quietly as set a tray on the rickety table and came to kneel beside him.

He glanced out the window and noticed it was considerably darker than it had been when he had first entered the hideaway.

"It's been a few hours," she answered his silent question. "I would have come sooner, but the old witch had us running all over the place. If I am correct, and I usually am when it comes to the Lady of the house, she's probably got Noin preparing her a new bath as we speak. Five degrees below scalding or she just won't have it. Come now and eat your dinner. How on earth did you come by this rabbit?"

He placed the white fluff ball on her lap and rose from the mattress. He examined the modest tray carrying his first proper meal since waking: some bread and cheese, a small bowl of rapidly cooling soup, some peaches and an apple. "That's the last good apple, so enjoy," Sally said as she seated herself on the mattress he had just vacated, calmly petting the silken fur of the little animal. "Hello there, little one," she said quietly to the creature. It twitched and struggled half-heartedly to escape her embrace before settling down to be coddled.

As he ate, Sally talked to him and the rabbit about anything and everything. He learned that she was the single child of a very happy marriage which had come to an abrupt end when her mother died of a severe illness the winter before her sixth birthday. She had lived in the manor with her father and the attendants for some very peaceful years until the Madame had ensnared her father through _obviously_ unnatural means and tricked him into marrying her, that evil witch (for it was plain to see she was evil). After a year of tense circling and hissing between herself and the witch (and the witch's daughters), her father had set out on a business expedition only to meet an early end at the bottom of a ravine. Since his unfortunate end, Sally had been forced to live under the cruel thumb of his second wife, her step-mother, who treated her as one might treat a very dirty stray dog.

Through the years, she had learned how to manage her step-mother. She had a number of minor actions which she performed daily as motions of rebellion against her oppressors, from rotten apples to conveniently forgetting to inform the Madame that she had guests. After so long, Sally had become a master at manipulating the Madame's underestimation of her adversary to get her own way. Using her skills, Sally often managed to steal hours at a time to do as she pleased.

She explained that the day they had found him, she had "taken the day off" in order to collect some herbs. She told him of her interest in medicine and in botany specifically. Chattering on animatedly, she described the rich variety of natural fauna that grew in the vicinity. For each plant she named, she gave a brief but educational lecture about its preparation and uses. It was halfway through one of these short lectures that she turned to see that her guest had long since finished his meal and was sitting there patiently, listening attentively even.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" she apologized while blushing madly. "I didn't mean to ramble like that. It's just that Noin _never_ listens when I start talking about medicine and since you didn't stop me I just… kept…" She sputtered off awkwardly. When he remained silent, Sally gathered her wits and finally stood, went right over to the table and set the bunny on his lap. "Right. Well, I'll just be going now, Peter. Noin will bring you breakfast. Goodnight." And with that, she picked up the tray and walked out the door before he could respond.

Left blinking in her wake, 'Peter' looked down at the equally oblivious rabbit and shrugged.

* * *

Outside, Sally closed the door quietly and dashed off towards the kitchens. As she began to clean off the tray and the dishes, carefully erasing any evidence that she had stolen an extra meal, she felt her cheeks burn in embarrassment. She cursed herself for being such an immature fool and mentally ran through the entire conversation (if one could even call it a conversation, considering how Peter never had a chance to speak) and cringed at how idiotic she must have sounded sprouting out such blather as she had. Surely, he now thought her to be some silly little girl who just didn't know when to shut her mouth. She growled in self-irritation and slipped off to the room she shared with Noin hoping that her friend would provide some comforting words to rebuild her self-esteem now that she completely embarrassed herself. 


	4. The Water Nymph

**Fairy Tales: rose woven**

**By Pout**

_Disclaimer: Characters are not mine. Apologies if their use in the following is in any way traumatic._

**Chapter 4: The Water Nymph**

The two brothers stood at the summit of the pass looking down on the vast expanse below them. They were making extraordinarily good time on their journey with relatively few incidents along the way. Less than a week had passed since they left the official borders of their kingdom. Moving through the dense terrain of the mountain path, the outlands of the state were still within view, and from their vantage point, they cast worried gazes back towards their home.

Duo brushed a lock of sun-lightened hair from his eyes and pointed out: "You can even see the ocean from here." Rolling blue tinged the horizon before fading into sky.

"An impressive view," Heero agreed.

"Trowa and Quatre are out there somewhere," Duo mused. Beside him, Heero made an agitated movement before turning back to his horse and swinging gracefully astride it. "You're worried," Duo stated. "Why? Do you think something's happened, too?"

Heero turned in his saddle and frowned openly. "What do you mean, 'too'?"

"A couple nights ago," his brother said as he remounted, "I just…had a feeling of sorts. Like something bad had happened. Did you feel it as well?"

Heero seemed to consider the question for a while before curtly nodding affirmatively.

Duo cursed mildly and turned to stare back at the ocean miles away. "Do you think we should-?"

His question was cut off abruptly as Heero shook his head, saying, "No. We continue on. We don't know that anything is actually wrong. Besides, they're more than capable of taking care of themselves. We shouldn't worry." He urged his mount back towards the main trail affectively ending the discussion.

Following behind, Duo nodded his agreement, "You're right. They're big boys now." Yet even as he said this, he turned his head and cast one last troubled glance towards the distant span of sea. They rounded the bend and quelled their hearts as their kingdom dropped out of sight.

* * *

Five days later, after a number of run-ins with some less-than-friendly bandits as well as a few of the wilder beasts that inhabited those parts, Heero and Duo were still making their way steadily down the side of the mountains. Brick's Passage had indeed cut their travel time nearly in half and Heero calculated they would emerge from the mountain forests within the next three days.

And so it was that when they came upon the lake, Duo was loudly humming a little ditty about three bar maids while Heero tried unsuccessfully to ignore him. It was the discovery of said lake that spared Duo bodily harm from his irritated older brother.

The trail they followed had meandered out of the woods into a wide clearing that encompassed the flat bank beside a relatively moderate sized lake. On all sides but for the glade they had arrived at, the lake was bordered by thick forest. Its placid waters rippled gently, touched by a slight breeze.

Duo immediately dismounted and hurried over to the side of the lake, longing for some cool refreshment. As he knelt beside the placid water, his violet eyes peered down into its clear blue depths. Marveling at the purity of the lake, he flinched back suddenly when he thought he caught a pair of crystalline eyes staring back at him. Blinking in surprise, he looked again but found nothing. Shaking his head and wondering at his own paranoia and overactive imagination, he sighed and let his hands sink under the cool surface of the water. Splashing his face with the cold liquid, he opened his eyes and was blinking droplets away when it began.

At first, it was merely a bit of haziness around the edges of his vision, like bright lights shining out from behind him. Then with a watery flash, the visions began. He saw a faint image of himself flying down the road, running after something, or someone. He saw a forest of thick trees and generous beams of sunlight. A cottage. A cave with glittering jewels. A flash and he saw himself approaching a lake, larger than the one he knelt beside and bathed in moonlight. He saw a figure at the opposite shore, hidden away in the shadow of the trees. He saw himself walking towards it and the light began to fade away. Distressed, he leaned forward and splashed a handful of water over his eyes and was rewarded with another set of visions.

This time, he saw again the cottage and the cave with its hidden treasures. He saw again the thick forest and the spacious lake. Again, just as he moved forward toward that figure in the shadows, his sight cleared and he saw only the lake before him.

Behind him, his brother was oblivious to the visions he was experiencing. Heero had led their horses to a nice patch of grass was about to unload their provisions for the midday meal, when he turned at last to the lake in order to berate his brother for being lazy and making him do everything, as usual. What he saw frightened him: Duo had his head submerged under the surface of the water and seemed to be slowly sinking in. At a sprint, Heero ran to his side and dragged his younger brother back, his eyes wide and on guard. Duo hit the bank with a thump, choking up water, blinking his eyes and looking at something behind Heero's shoulder. "Duo! Are you alright? What were you doing?!"

With a groan, Duo flopped onto his back and sighed heavily. "Seeing water," the younger prince answered. "It's seeing water."

Heero dropped down beside his brother and sighed as well. Seeing water; that explained it. Waters that allowed those without prophetic sight to catch glimpses of the future. Seeing water was dangerous in that one glimpse was almost never enough. Curiosity would drive a man to drown himself if only to keep sight of what lay ahead. "We should get out of here, then," Heero said. "Whoever tends to this lake could be back soon, or could be here now. And one can never guess how they'll react. Come on, get up."

Still choking slightly, but entirely willing to leave the scene, Duo took Heero's proffered hand and together they turned toward the horses. They took a step then stopped, frozen in their tracks. "This is _not_ good," Duo said out of the corner of his mouth as they sighted the nymph.

She was a beautiful creature, as most water nymphs are: pale blue skin and white-blue hair, a shimmering gown of ice and liquid, and just about three feet high. The miniature form was petting the legs of their horses and staring back at the two princes giving no clues as to whether or not she was angry over their trespasses on her territory. When she spoke, it was with a voice that somehow managed to sound remarkably similar to running water: smooth but ephemeral, each word disappearing quickly, leaving a very tangible silence in its wake.

She stared without blinking and said: "What have you seen, Prince?"

Dealing with the Other World was a tricky thing. One never knew what made these magic creatures angry or pleased. They often seemed to know much more than their human counterparts and this made them especially difficult to interact with. On a general principle, it was best, usually, to be honest, so that's what Duo did. He told her all of what he had seen in the visions, then waited for her judgment. However, after he completed his narration, she merely nodded, then turned to Heero and said, "You must see as well."

Seeing the future was generally not a good idea for anyone who was not born with the gift, but when Heero tried to protest, the little nymph turned angry, and later Duo would comment on how he was sure he had seen steam rising from the top of her head. At Heero's refusal, the little nymph came stomping across the distance between them, her cool eyes ablaze. The two princes, knowing that they really shouldn't try to run, stood where they were and let her come at them. As a rule, nymphs generally disliked leaving their given territories and only left their borders when absolutely necessary. If worse came to worse, they could whistle for the horses and hopefully make it to the woods before she caught them and the water nymph would be discouraged from giving chase.

The little creature came to a stop right in front of Heero, staring up at him with fiercely narrowed eyes. "I am a product of Destiny," she declared in her liquid voice. "I said you must see, so you will see. You should know better than to disagree with a water nymph about Other Worldly things. You anger me." Not knowing how best to proceed after hearing this statement, Heero opened his mouth to apologize and quickly closed it as the nymph suddenly doused him in water.

As with Duo before, Heero's vision began to glow around the edges and suddenly, translucent images appeared, solidifying slightly so that these gifted visions were overlapping the real world that he saw around him. He spoke as he saw, telling the nymph everything that flashed before his eyes. "I'm riding through the forest. A little woman. A number of little women. A house in a tree. A man, with long blond hair, in a tavern. He's pointing at something. I'm turning to look. Flowers. Thorns. It's dark. A tower. Red flowers. I'm turning-" His vision returned to normal and he fought the urge to ask for more water.

"I understand," the nymph said simply. Duo wanted to say, 'Well, we don't,' but resisted valiantly.

Ignoring them for a moment, the ice-colored creature walked over to the water, reached beneath its surface with one hand and pulled out a small vial. She walked back to them and stood there with the vial in her hand. "This is a bit of my seeing water. You will need it in the future," she said, speaking to Heero directly. "You must remember: there is only enough for one douse; it must only be used when one feels the pangs of the worst despair." That said, she pressed the vial into Heero's hands and stepped back. "You must leave now." Taking the dismissal for what it was, the two brothers quickly gathered their things and mounted up. Glancing back at the nymph, they found she was smiling slightly at them.

On a whim, Duo raised a hand and called out, "Thanks!" And as he and Heero rode off down the path heading back into the forest, they heard the rippling laughter of a silver-blue water nymph trickling through the breeze to follow them.

* * *

Three days later, just as predicted, the two brothers emerged from Brick's Passage, a little less than two weeks after leaving the palace. Having made it over the mountain range, the princes were at a loss as to what they should do next or where they should go.

"The prophet really should have been more specific," Duo sighed as he lay sprawled out on the grass. "Go east, over the mountains, he says. Well, we did that, now what?" He yawned loudly and opened an eye to peer at his older brother. Heero had been unusually preoccupied these past few days. "What's on your mind?" Duo asked.

"I can't get that vision out of my head," Heero answered candidly.

Duo sat up and plucked at the grass beneath his fingers. Solemnly, he nodded in agreement and said, "I keep thinking about that lake and that person on the other side."

"Did you see who it was? If it was an ally or an enemy?"

Duo shook his head. "It was night, I couldn't really see anything clearly. But I didn't feel threatened. If anything, I felt, I don't know, anxious…excited, I guess. Like I had been looking for that person."

"Your potential wife?"

"Dunno."

"Was she in a tree?" Heero asked good-humoredly.

The younger prince laughed and shrugged before falling back into the grass. "I _really_ want to know," he whined.

Heero gave a slight chuckle. "You never were a patient one."

Duo gave him an annoyed look. "Well, what about you? You only got one douse. What do you think it meant? Towers and flowers?"

"There was that blond man in it, too. And whatever it was he was pointing at, I felt like it was important."

"What about the little women? Don't tell me you're going to marry a midget."

"Haha," Heero replied dryly. "They were faeries. Wings and everything."

They sat in silence for a few moments before Heero went to collect the horses and Duo said contemplatively as he stood up, "Well, we'll know as soon as it happens in the future, I suppose."

"That isn't very helpful."

"That's Other World magic for you."

"Selectively useful."

"Exactly. Ah well. We saw it for a reason; otherwise we wouldn't have seen anything at all. This is just one of those wait-and-see things."

"I hate those."

It was a little past midday when they came to a fork in the road, one no different from any of the dozen or so they had passed since the morning. They had been traveling blindly, aimlessly picking roads simply to see where they would lead. This time, however, Duo nudged his horse to the right without much thought about the decision, only to come to a halt when he heard his brother call his name. Turning in his saddle, he was surprised to see Heero stopped some ways behind him where the road had split.

"What's going on?" Duo asked as he turned his horse around. Heero looked off towards the left and Duo realized they had come to the end of their journey together. 'Our hearts will be our guides. We'll ride together for as long as our emotions lead us down the same path,' Heero had said. But their instincts were pulling them in different directions and they would have to go their own ways now.

There was an awkward moment as they both tried to decide what to say at this crucial parting. At last, Heero put out his hand which Duo grasped warmly.

"Be careful," Heero said with sincerity.

Duo smirked. "I'll be waiting for you back at the Palace."

"Really? How do you figure that?" Heero asked, clearly skeptical. "I could be married and with children on the way before you even meet your tree-dwelling girl."

Duo snorted. "Oh please, Heero. I could court five dozen ladies while you dealt with one."

The older prince laughed and shook his head.

"Take care, Heero," Duo said, suddenly sober. A heavy silence hung in the air until finally, Heero nodded, turned his mount, and headed down the left path disappearing from sight, swallowed up by a bend in the road.

Swallowing the dry emotion in his throat, Duo watched the dust settle in the wake of Heero's departure. He knew, somehow, that the next time they met, they would both be changed. The next time he saw any of his brothers, they would all be different and it would never be quite the same as it had once been. As he set off down his own chosen path, he tried not to think about how it would likely be a very, very long time before he saw his brothers again.


	5. Invasion of Pearls and Perfume

**Fairy Tales: rose woven**

**By Pout**

_Disclaimer: Characters are not mine. Apologies if their use in the following is in any way traumatic._

**Chapter 5: Invasion of Pearls and Perfume**

"I refuse."

Wufei set his cup of tea down on the table with a bit too much force, causing the steaming liquid within to slosh about dangerously. The youngest prince scowled and readied his most stubborn front.

Sitting calmly across the table was his mother, the queen. Taking a delicate sip, she sighed and said, "Darling, you simply cannot avoid this anymore. We're running out of guest suites and they're starting to stress the kitchen reserves."

"Then we'll just send them away. It's not like they were invited here in the first place."

"There isn't a soul on the continent who doesn't know what the prophet declared. There is nothing extraordinary about this. Now will you stop acting like a stubborn child, please? You're one of my most reasonable children-"

"We're _all _reasonable, with the exception of Duo."

"-so act according to your station and do your duty by getting down there and meeting these fine young ladies-"

Wufei made a guffawing noise.

"-who have come from near and far to see you," the queen finished. Setting her cup down gently, she narrowed her eyes and turned her gaze on her youngest son. "Anything less than perfect courtesy and you will disappoint me, Wufei."

The young prince scowled even deeper, knowing that his mother was playing her trump card. More than anything in the world, Wufei hated to disappoint. He had always met and surpassed all expectations. He prided himself on being an exemplary student, prince, and son. He frowned, knowing he had been beaten into submission.

Acknowledging the concession, his mother stood and said, "Very good. I'll be expecting you downstairs." With a graceful flourish of petticoats, the queen confidently withdrew from the apartments.

Wufei reigned in his annoyance and grit his teeth to keep himself from ranting at full volume to an empty room. He took a deep breath and a few moments to collect himself, then made his way down to meet his visitors.

* * *

He was miserable. He believed very genuinely that this was secretly torture in disguise. Sure, they wore fluffy dresses and sweet smelling perfume, and perhaps individually, they were not so abhorrently terrible, but as a mass, the overwhelming sight of pink and sugary blues made his teeth rattle and the stench of expensive scents was assaulting his sense of smell to such an extent that the migraine that had resulted from their incessant chatter was slowly being dulled away by their flowery odor. Wufei sent yet another pleading look to his mother and was hardly surprised when she pointedly ignored him, just as she had been doing for the past three hours.

He had spent an entire morning "entertaining" a throng of visiting ladies and princesses, women and girls come from the near and far reaches to try and win his favor. At this point, he had to say that they were doing quite the opposite. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to sooth his worsening headache when the princess on his right leaned over under the rouse of reaching for the wine jug while batting her dark lashes at him. He backed away from her hungry smile, swallowing forcefully to keep from gagging at the strength of her chosen fragrance. When she daringly placed her pale, pasty hand on his wrist, he jumped up from his seat, as if recoiling from a striking snake. The hand was retracted quickly but the woman's predatory smile remained.

The room silenced immediately as he looked out across the sea of females. Lashes were batting so unanimously that Wufei could have sworn he felt a general draft. He looked over to his mother and found her to be staring at him with a dangerously arched brow. It was clear where Heero inherited that particular expression.

"I…" he began. "I just need to step outside for a moment. Get some fresh air," he said, finding himself gesturing madly at the window as if vocal speech would not be a sufficient means by which to communicate to the mass of glitter and perfume.

As a group, the ladies offered their company, batting eyelashes and leaning forward over the table to show as much cleavage as possible. "I shall go alone," he declared solidly, as he bolted for the door, needing to escape as soon as possible. He knew his mother was glaring at him, so he made sure to avoid her gaze. As he pulled the door open, he could feel her stare boring into the back of his skull; it foretold of much lecturing and disappointed gazes to come.

Shutting the door behind him (and resisting the urge to lock and bar it), he made his way quickly over to the library that had long since become his private domain. Comfortable in the presence of countless tomes and volumes, books and journals, Wufei sank gratefully into his favorite chair. It was pulled up in front of the massive fireplace and as he glumly sank his chin into the palm of his left hand, he stared at the flickering flames and wondered about all the things that his brothers might be going through.

He thought back to that night, just after they had all left, when he had woken with the feel of nightmares in his brain, unable to breathe, choking on worry and fright. A storm had raged mightily that night and the dark waters of the sea could be seen tossing and churning violently even from the palace. He had stared out at the ocean for the rest of the night and somewhere in the pit of his stomach, guided by instinct, Wufei had come to a fairly sure conclusion that Trowa and Quatre had come to some trouble.

The Tritonstead should have made port at the island of Wintowend days ago. The islanders had a reliable coop of carrier birds that should have brought word of his brothers' arrival by now. But word had not come. Instead, a flock of females had shown up, all lace and pearls.

Releasing a self-pitying moan, the prince slumped further into his seat. _Those awful women_, he thought to himself. _One half is stupid; the other, devious. It is too bad, then, that I should only want one who is intelligent and kind. As for what she should resemble, be it a bat or a beauty, I don't much care, so long as she doesn't drown herself in that dratted perfume everyday. I don't think that's too much to ask for_, the prince mused. _This is _not _the way I would go about finding a wife, if I had my say in matters._

Indeed, this influx of insubstantial beauties had only brought money-seekers and class-promoting aristocrats. As if he would ever fall for someone of that ilk. He was fairly sure by now that his future wife would not be among those in the crowd he had met this morning. Not one of them had given him a reason to take a second look and at first glance, he had seen too much eye batting and lip puckering to retain much interest.

He toyed with the idea of setting off to the east to follow after Heero and Duo, but was forced to admit that he placed too much weight on the prophet's instructions to blatantly disobey his wisdom. Of the five brothers, Wufei was the most obedient and filial. His pride kept him from going against the wills of his parents. Still, after years of living with his precocious brothers, their influence was ultimately inescapable. Every so often, a particularly offensive order would provoke his defiance, and when coupled with his unshakeable obstinacy, it became impossible to move him. But these times came very seldom. It took a great deal for Wufei to deign something absolutely unacceptable, so for the majority of the time, Wufei was quite compliant and his parents adored and appreciated him for it.

Still, it made things very difficult for the youngest prince when he knew he would rather be doing something other than what he was told to do. The present situation was a perfect example. He was expected to play his part diligently, entertaining and catering to the whims of these ladies, but all he wanted to do was toss them out on their overly-cushioned behinds. His mother might not find it amusing, but Wufei was sure there was nothing that would make him happier.

He wondered what his brothers might have done had they been in his situation. Heero likely would have disappeared into the wild somewhere refusing to return until every last lady had departed. There would be no compromise to his demands and eventually, the king and queen would have to give in, for an heir was no use if he refused to return to the kingdom.

Duo, on the other hand, would have enjoyed the attention of a million smiling women. He would take his time choosing, however, extending their stay until finally the food banks ran out or the king forced him to make a choice. At that point, the second prince would either draw names from a hat or make like Heero and head for the woods.

Trowa would take his time as well, but unlike Duo, Trowa would spend his time thoroughly interviewing and inspecting all contenders. Trowa's standards would be impossibly high, and there would be no chance for these frilly women to pass muster. So in the end, he would either chose the girl who had the most points, or candidly request a better selection.

Quatre was a gentle soul and the quality he admired most was kindness. Quatre would look immediately for the most selfless individual and hope that she had other qualities to make her company enjoyable. If not, however, Quatre, being a true romantic, a believer in love and all it's promises, would refuse to make a selection until someone had struck a chord in his heart.

That said, it became clear that none of his brothers would ever settle, especially not on an issue as important as selecting a bride. Reflecting on this, Wufei made a pledge to himself: no matter what his parents argued, he would not marry until he found a suitable wife, suitable in all the ways that mattered _to him_. He would not be pressured into choosing from the flock that had arrived on his doorstep simply because his mother thought it proper. He would find the right girl, and only then would he bind himself.

With his mind made up, the prince left the library sanctuary and headed for his personal quarters in order to gather a few essential items for his extended stay away from the palace.

* * *

The sand was damp but hot. The sun blistered overhead, pounding down on its victim below. The ebb and flow of the sea lapped at what little covered the beach. Driftwood, the last remains of unlucky vessels, dotted the shore. And in the midst of this wreckage lay a single battered body. With a sturdy plank still under one arm, the figure gasped, choked, and breathed uneasily. Then, slowly, eyes opened and a lost prince awakened at last to find himself in a land far, far, much too far from home. 


	6. Song of the Sands

**Fairy Tales: rose woven**

**By Pout**

_Disclaimer: Characters are not mine. Apologies if their use in the following is in any way traumatic._

**Chapter 6: Song of the Sands**

Quatre was sure that the burning grains of sand that surrounded him were slowly melting into his skin. He had walked through the endless desert searching desperately for some sign of human life, only to collapse at the bottom of one of the many indistinguishable sand dunes he had crossed. Lying flat for the sun to pound on him from the front and the sand to scorch his back, the fourth prince found himself encased in a world of sweltering heat. He listened to the resounding caw of a desert vulture flying blithely overhead and the persistent whine of useless, hot wind as it shifted and molded the sand as it pleased. 'I will miss my brothers,' was his last thought as he fell into the cool comfort of unconsciousness.

* * *

She had been watching him for the better part of the afternoon. She watched him struggle and overexert himself, only to stumble, crawl, and eventually give in to the force of the desert. He had golden locks of a shade she had never seen on a human before. The human men on the island were of a darker variety with dark hair and sun-browned skin. They were generally thought of as oafish as they lumbered about around the demarcated human areas. Within her own country, where most of her people possessed varying shades of red and brown locks, blonde hair was seen as particularly auspicious. This handsome, golden creature staggering ambitiously across the dunes of wind and fire stirred her sense of mystery and adventure, and emboldened her to venture closer to him.

Judging by the direction in which he traveled, a path as straight as he could manage heading roughly northeast, she guessed he must have come from the western shore. He could not have been a man of the island or he would have known to follow the main road instead of wandering about in the wilds. Even the humans knew better than to risk travel through untamed desert. The open sands were potentially dangerous even for her people; they were twice as hazardous for the simple humans.

She watched him tumble to a halt at the base of a shifting dune. If he didn't remove himself soon, he'd be facing a hot sand coffin. The winds seemed to sense the presence of easy prey, howling over the sand tops with predatory lust. The sand piled up dangerously.

Contact with the humans was strictly forbidden. Her curiosity was going to be her undoing. Her unnatural fascination with the species would lead her to ruin. Still, she went forward.

* * *

Quatre dreamt wonderful dreams. His dreams were memories.

He dreamt of the first time he was allowed to go swimming down at the lake. His mother had fretted but his brothers had pleaded and argued and demanded and convinced, and that afternoon, the five of them had stayed in the water so long they turned disgustingly wrinkled. Quatre had loved every minute of it.

He saw the old apple tree, the only one in an orchard of cherry trees. It was the first tree he ever climbed. He liked to sit on its lowest branches with a book in his hands just soaking in the midday sun as it filtered through the leaves. He was the only one who knew he had carved his name into its highest branch, followed by a heart and the name of one of the serving maids.

He remembered the first time they snuck into a tavern. They had befriended an old gypsy fellow who had teasingly told them that they were cursed. For a week, they lived in terror that they were going to die or something worse. When they returned to the tavern, begging for a cure, the gypsy had laughed and bought them a round. They smiled sheepishly and shared their first drink with relief.

His dreams showed him the last time they had gotten hopelessly lost in the forest and spent an entire night aimlessly wandering round and round in circles until finally they found a path out. The next day they set up a small party and went through the forest, meticulously mapping each and every detail.

He dreamt about the first time he held a bow. His older brother, Trowa, had handed it over to him very casually and Quatre had accepted it in the same manner until he realized precisely what it was he was holding. It was Trowa's most prized possession, the bow he had received from Heero after clearing a series of twenty targets – Heero's own personal test of competence. Trowa had carried that bow around with him for weeks, as a child would an old blanket. It was perhaps his only manifestation of childhood. "You can give it back to me when you've hit twenty targets," Trowa had explained, and he had left the room, slowly, and not without a longing glance back at his treasured gift.

He dreamt of a churning sea, vengeful and dangerous. The tossing and turning and salt and slap of the water invaded his dreamscape. He struggled for breath, shivered in the cold of the storm. And then the sea turned bright. Waves hardened into dunes and swept across his vision

And then he dreamt of a pitiful wraith disappearing like sand in the wind.

* * *

The human had healed and regained his strength. Under the balm of the healer, he would remain in a quiet sleep until sundown. Beside him, the little sand sprite kept watch. Her russet-red locks curled around her finger as she pondered over her next step.

Three days ago, she had found him floundering about in the middle of nowhere. She had taken him up then, and brought him to a safe spot that none had yet discovered: a hidden cave by the base of the hills. She had had no alternative but to leave him for the nights when she slipped back to the palace, but she knew this night he would awaken, and he would be alone. Bringing him back to the palace would be suicide seeing as how contact with the human race was strictly regulated and certainly such contact was far beneath the station of a royal heir. Her father would skin her alive.

So taking him back was out of the question. As such, it was best that she engage in the least amount of contact as possible. Still, leaving him alone to fend for himself was terribly harsh. The best course of action would be to take him to his own people. She would leave him with the other humans. Certainly they could do something about him.

With her mind decided, she stood up and dusted off her skirt and shawl. Bringing her head sash across her lips to wrap around her neck, she began to sing.

Perhaps to any other creature it would seem that the sprite was simply humming a little melody. But with her song came magic, and that magic lifted the prone human up from the sands and floated him right out of the cave. Careful attention would show that her song was simple and smooth, giving way only to trills and pitches when maneuvering her burden over the terrain.

She walked for quite a while before finding the perfect spot. Under the meager shade of a tall desert cactus, she settled the man with a long whole note. The cactus stood conveniently beside one of the main roads that skewered the desert. The island humans traveled the path often, and if she was right, they were due to arrive sometime later that day.

She knelt down beside the unconscious man and hummed softly to ease what looked like a painful dream. His brows were knitted and his lips were set in a grimace.

With his head in her lap, she sang an old lullaby to him.

* * *

Quatre heard that song and it pulled him from the dreams that disturbed him. As his eyes struggled to open against the blaze of the day around him, he felt the heat of the sun and the desert around him. Half-conscious, he listened to the most beautiful melody he had ever heard.

It was unlike anything he had ever known before. Music was his passion and this song sparked a burning interest in him. The song skipped and danced through four quarter and three quarter time switching merrily between the two. The irregular time gave it a capriciousness that Quatre enjoyed. But more captivating than the melody was the voice that sang it. An otherworldly grace and purity gave the voice the quality of silken glass.

When the song ended, he opened his eyes fully and saw a vague silhouette a woman in a yellow shawl with a scarf covering her features. He opened his mouth to speak and question her about the beautiful song, to compliment her on her pure voice, but she put a finger to his lips and shook her head.

"This is but a dream," she said in a soft tone. Her speech, too, was gentle and lilting. "Go to sleep now. All will be well once you are rested." There was a touch of playfulness in her voice that made him smile sleepily. She began to hum and he felt himself drifting back into unconsciousness.

* * *

When he woke again, he found himself staring at the ceiling of a tent.

"He's awake!"

A face popped into view, hovering over him eagerly.

"So, how do you feel, brother?"

Quatre had a nasty urge to say he was sure the other man was not his brother, but he restrained himself and responded with a raspy: "Dry."

"Some water for the poor fellow!" another voice cried, prompting the man above him to disappear from sight.

Quatre looked around to see a few men scurrying around the tent as another disappeared out the flap. One of the men helped him sit up in the bed of cushions and blankets he was lying upon. Another man brought him a gourd filled with sweet, clean water, which he drank greedily, trying not to waste even one precious drop. A small crowd of men had gathered and they laughed at his rabid thirst as he smiled and thanked them hastily when he had finished.

One of the men, tall with a full beard, probably the leader, came and sat down by him to speak. "I am Rashid," the man said by way of introduction. "What is your name, brother?"

"Quatre," he answered.

"You must be from the eastern continent. What brings you out here? We found you a short ways off the main road, just sleeping with a stupid grin on your face." The other men laughed and Quatre blushed.

"The ship I was on got caught in a storm. I washed up on the beach. I remember stumbling through the desert. I must have fallen by the side of your road."

The man shook his head. "You could not have survived the desert nights out here alone."

"A sprite got you, you fool!" one of the other men laughed.

"A sprite?" Quatre asked blearily, imagining a tiny, mosquito-sized creature with sugar-crystal wings.

"A sand sprite," Rashid clarified, "the dominant race on this island."

"Where is this, exactly?" Quatre asked.

"The Island of the Dunes."

"The Island of the Dunes is supposed to be uninhabited," Quatre protested.

"A misconception, one which we like to perpetuate," the other man replied. "Most of us escaped here from one place or another, for various reasons. And the sprites don't like to show themselves, even to us."

"These sprites, they're…not human?"

"They're a sort of cousin to faeries and elves. A mix of human and Other Worldly blood."

"Don't you remember?" one of the men jeered. "One obviously got to you!"

Rashid held up a hand to shush the laughter that filled the tent, then explained, "You've got the scent of healer's balm all over you."

"Healer's balm," Quatre repeated. "What's that?"

Rashid grinned. "The sprites make it. It has magical properties and a very distinct smell, which you happen to be covered in."

Quatre nodded, noting the smell of something that was both minty and sour at the same time.

Rashid and the others laughed at his confused expression and Quatre just had to ask: "Why do you laugh? I don't understand."

The man chuckled even louder at his straightforward question. "Sprites… They are a tricky people. They do not take in humans easily. In fact, they don't do it at all."

"And yet here you are, smelling sweetly of Healer's balm. We found you sleeping easily in the blistering heat. By all accounts you should be dead, man!" the other cried.

"So, a sprite helped me," Quatre clarified. Rashid nodded, that smirk still on his lips. Quatre was feeling perhaps a little more moody than usual. It was probably the heat. In any case, he frowned and said, quite frankly, "I still don't understand why it's so funny."

Some of the men choked back guffaws and clamped tanned hands over their mouths to silence themselves.

Rashid scratched his cheek and smiled openly. "It's just that, sprites don't usually help humans. If they do…it usually means…" Quatre stared blankly back at the big man. "Well…"

"It means you're bedding a sprite!" one of the men cried out, sending all the others into peals of laughter.

Quatre felt the blood infusing his cheeks. _How…crass!_ "I'm not! I'm not…be- bed- You're all mistaken," he protested. There was much winking and nodding and he felt himself growing cross.

Rashid was patting his back, "It's all right. We don't associate with the sprites unless we absolutely have to so you don't have to worry about word getting back to them."

"We can keep a secret!" the men were cheering.

Losing the will to object, Quatre just nodded and thanked them.

* * *

The strains of the harp made Catherine sigh happily. "Sister, you play so beautifully!" she praised.

An older girl with the same glamorous red locks smiled back and said to her youngest sister, "Cathy, sing a song for us. You disappeared again yesterday and since you refuse to tell us of your adventures, we demand a song as compensation."

"And a dance as well!" two others called out, their red hair gleaming under the stroke of the sun.

"You're all very greedy!" Cathy reprimanded her older sisters, grinning all the while.

"I suppose you'd rather we told father instead…?" another girl remarked as she sat down beside the marble fountain. She dipped a graceful finger into the cool water and trailed a line over its surface. "Are you sure you won't tell us? You haven't done anything…bad…have you, Catherine?"

Cathy smiled slyly and shook her head, "Of course not!" She spun on her heel and went to stand in the center of the courtyard. "So, what shall I sing?"

"The Courtship of Lady Demark!"

"No, the Victory at Balasade!"

"Lament of Gattersby!"

"That's so boring, Winni!"

"Flora Fauna Foust!"

"Oh, if you make her sing that one more time, I'm going to go insane!"

"The Red Red River!"

"That's a good one, do that one, Cathy!"

The youngest sister smiled and began to sing the song of the Red Red River. It was a melancholy, lilting love story of a warrior boy named Goereth, who falls in love with the peasant maiden, Penawa, who is promised to another. He woos her and persuades her to run away with him. But in the very last verse, as they run across the bridge, escaping under the cover of heavy rains, their joined hands are pulled apart and the warrior falls to his death in the swirling waters below, leaving his love behind to face the pursuing mob.

Cathy's melodic voice trilled in song as her body swayed with the steps of the dance. Her arms unfurled like wings and light steps spun the tragic tale of two lovers denied. The sashes of her dress flew up around her and the trees and grasses swung and waved as her magic brought weightlessness and enchantment to her surroundings.

At last, her voice trilled out Penawa's last tears, and she knelt to the ground, her scarves settling around her in artistic mourning. There was a pause of stillness before her sisters began to applaud and cheer gratefully.

Next, they made Winni play a ditty on her lyre as Gilly and Bandri sang accompaniment. And all the while as they sang and played, the littlest sister could not help but wonder how that golden man was doing out there in the dunes.

* * *

The men that had found him were an odd band of transporters that manned the hazardous trade routes between the human settlements throughout the dunes, moving goods from one town to the next. They called themselves the Maganacs and Rashid was their leader.

"What do you plan to do now?" the tall transporter asked.

"I must find my brother," Quatre responded.

Rashid regarded him with questioning eyes. "How do you intend to do that?"

Quatre paused but shook his head. "He's alive out there. I just need to find him."

Rashid took a moment and said slowly, "You survived because of your pretty sprite. Unless your brother has such a companion as well, it is unlikely that he has survived the desert alone."

The blond prince frowned. "I don't have a sprite 'companion.' And nor does my brother. Perhaps he was picked up by another band of transporters. Are there not others like you?"

Rashid nodded in concession. "Yes. You are right. It is _possible_." Quatre scowled. The heat was making him irritable. "In any case, we're heading out," the head of the Maganacs announced. "We'll be heading towards one of the bigger settlements. You're welcome to come along. You might be able to find something out when we get there."

Quatre nodded and thanked him though he was annoyed with the other man's pessimistic attitude. If something had happened to Trowa, Quatre would have known, would have felt it in his bones. Quatre shook off any doubt and resolved himself to finding his brother as soon as possible.

Rashid had left him a change of clothing which consisted of a light cloth robe, head wrap turban, and wraparound scarf to cover his face. He stepped out of the tent and surveyed his surroundings. He gulped down a choke of apprehension when he saw nothing but sand as far as the eye could see. A man could easily lose his way; it was a wonder that any sort of civilization could exist in such an environment. He was lucky to have been found, he realized, and thanked what stars he was born under for their guidance and blessings.

Just as he finished bundling up the tent he had been allowed to sleep in, a line of camels to his right began stamping and pulling on their ropes in synchronized distress. Suddenly, a loud grumble came thundering over the sand hills. There was a tense moment as everyone froze in their steps. Heads turned to look just in time as a dark, hulking form burst through the cap of a nearby sand dune, shooting sand into the sky with its eruption.

One of the men shouted, "It's a prowler!" and immediately, everyone began to scatter.

Another growl pierced the air as a spot of darkness came slithering down the slope. It crawled closer and closer and Quatre was able to see that the creature was a tar-black mass formed into the shape of a short, bulky serpent. There were long hairs along its back that promised to be sharp and deadly, as well as short bristles down on its belly which allowed the beast to swim across the surface of the sand. Its head was a blunt end of a stout, snake-like body, nothing more. It had no discernable eye or mouth and yet somehow it growled ferociously as it prowled closer.

A vanguard of men ventured forth to slow the predator down. A bevy of arrows shot from hastily armed crossbows bounced harmlessly off the armor of spiky hairs. The creature came ever closer, sending sand flying in violent waves as it headed towards their camp. A barricade of fire barrels was easily upturned and defeated when the prowler simply dove back into the sand and passed under it.

Rashid was ordering his men into formation, trying to organize an attack, his men armed with long spears and more crossbows. The spears and arrows hit their marks on occasion, but even so, they caused little pain for the massive creature.

Feeling the adrenaline pumping in his veins, Quatre hurried towards the front lines, shouting for a bow. Rashid was shouting for another wave of arrows a suitable weapon was thrust upon the young prince, but Quatre held his fire. "I have an idea," Quatre volunteered.

Following the blonde newcomer's instructions, they lit another barrel aflame and this time it was launched through the air, landing just in front of the creature, giving it less time to evade. Instead of digging into the sand, the prowler reared up and rolled over, revealing a softer underbelly as well as its eyes and mouth. In that instant, Quatre shot his crossbow. The arrow flew straight and true drawing to the beast like iron to a magnet, stabbing solidly into its eye. A second arrow lodged just under the mouth, piercing what may have been its throat.

The creature writhed in pain, rasping loudly and rolling about as it tried unsuccessfully to dislodge the arrows. In thrashing, it landed atop the ignited barrel, the flames quickly scorching its belly forcing it to rear up away from the fire. The Maganacs were quick to take advantage of the prowler's now vulnerable state and launched their spears and bows, finally bringing the creature to a stop as it flopped unceremoniously to the ground. They watched as it lay there twitching its death throes in the sand before breaking out in unanimous celebration at their victory.

Rashid came over and clapped Quatre on the back. "You saved my camp. I thank you," the big man said honestly.

The prince sagged to his knees in the sand, smiling up at the man. He had not yet fully recovered from his time out at sea and now after the excitement and with the sun beating down on him, the fatigue was taking over. "I'm glad I was able to help."

"That was quick thinking!" one of the men shouted. "And good shooting," said another as some of the men moved to make sure the beast was dead and to salvage what they could of the spears and arrows.

"Pack up!" Rashid ordered, then turned to the group huddled around the carcass, "Hey! Cut it out! Trust me, we can't eat it! Let's get out of here as soon as possible; that thing's already starting to stink."

But as the last of the tents were coming down and the carts were being tied up, one of the men on watch started shouting and screaming from atop the dune crests. "Sandstorm!" he cried as he slid down the side of the slope to rejoin the group. "Sandstorm coming up from the east!" he shouted, and with those words he sent the camp back into a state of panic.

"Latch everything together!" Rashid bellowed. "Make sure the cargo is secure!"

"What's going on?" Quatre asked.

"Sandstorm," Rashid answered as if the prince had not gathered as much already. "Here," he said tossing him a pair of goggles. "Put those on. Make sure your scarf is secure tight over your mouth, nose and ears. Like this," he said, demonstrating.

Quatre did as he was told and wrapped himself up as best he could, noticing that the wind had picked up and that sand was beginning to fly every which way. He felt something creeping towards them over his shoulder but could not force himself to turn around and acknowledge it. Instead, he followed Rashid as he hustled everyone into a group, camels lining the outer edge of the circle. The wind was blowing furiously over the dunes, whistling angrily in warning. The geography around them was shifting dangerously as dunes dwindled to join with the storm at their backs. With the cargo efficiently lashed together, the men knelt down to take their positions by the camels, pressing their covered faces into the camel flanks for added protection. Rashid shoved him down and told him: "Do not let go! Whatever you do, do not let go!"

Kneeling down in the sand with his arms twisted around the rope keeping him firmly attached to the rest of the group, Quatre felt his muscles aching and his heart pounding from the rush of adrenaline and a touch of fear. His curiosity finally got the better of him and as the storm finally approached, he dared to raise his face to the oncoming threat.

Before him, he could see a giant wave of sand that came rolling towards them, eating everything between them and it, turning the sky into a flying desert. Sand obscured the sun and made the form of the dunes around them shift and blur until he couldn't distinguish land from sky. Soon, sand was everywhere, successfully infiltrating every crack and crevice there was to fill.

Quatre quickly found himself surrounded by the projectile grains, unable to hear anything but nature's howling, and just when he thought it couldn't get worse, he felt the sand sliding away underneath him. Already drained from the prowler escapade moments earlier, it became more and more taxing to hang on to the lifeline that was the camel beside him. Despite the protection Rashid had provided him, sand was seeping into his clothes and scraping against his face.

Carefully, he moved to adjust his goggles and pull his cloth mask tighter around his face. In that instant, the ground beneath him fell away so unexpectedly that he tumbled with it as the rope was ripped from his hands. Sliding with the sand, he eventually came to a rest. He had lost his sense of direction as well as his connection to the rest of the group. He attempted to shout out but regretted doing so as, despite his protective covering, his mouth was instantly filled with sand and his cries were easily swallowed by the wind.

On his side, choking and gasping for breath, sinking and on his way to being buried alive by the storm, Quatre closed his eyes as tight as possible and lay still, hands over his mouth trying to filter the sand so he could breathe better. For long moments, he lay there trying to slow his heart and concentrate his breathing, but fear, fear of dying alone in a strange land so far from his family, was causing him to panic. From shipwreck to sandstorm; he couldn't help but bemoan his fate. Then, once again, he heard a strange song fill his ears.

The song was thin and soft, but the notes were pure and steady. Quatre remembered this gentle voice that had saved him before. The melody threaded through the sand, as if weaving between strands of wind to calm and tame the fury of the storm. And suddenly, the blanket of sand, wind, and voice finally came down abruptly like a giant quilt thrown over them. Dust and sand settled quietly as it dropped harmlessly back down to the ground and the storm dissipated as quickly as it had come.

Slowly, the sky and the desert separated. Quatre looked up and blinked grains of sands out of his eyes. Coming to his senses, he quickly sat up and craned his head left and right in search of his savior, the owner of that mysterious voice. He was surprised to find that he was only a short distance away from the rest of the Maganacs, but his eyes could see no other strangers.

The landscape around them had completely changed. Dunes had shifted in minutes, forced to dwindle and grow by the strength of the storm. Pulling himself out of the sand, he pushed to his feet tiredly, brushing dust from his clothes and hair. He looked over at the transporters only to find them staring back at him in happy disbelief.

"We heard it," Rashid said as he approached the blond foreigner. "The song of the sands!" Quatre's puzzled face prompted the Maganac leader to pat him heartily on the back and laugh, "Your sprite has saved the day again!"

The fourth prince shook his head trying to protest, but Rashid would have none of it. The other members had gathered around the blond man, teasing him, congratulating him, thanking him, and slapping him on the back.

"Only a sand sprite can put down a sand storm," one of the group members informed him. "Tell me, is she a pretty one? Does she sing for you?"

Rashid laughed and pulled Quatre out of the huddle to walk with him. "Whatever it is, you're a lucky soul to have been blessed with a sprite's protection. Come, you'll sit by me at the front of the line!"

Too tired to object, Quatre followed the big man, but not without looking over his shoulder one last time.

* * *

With her hands pressed to her heart, Catherine ducked back into the silhouette of the sand dune she was hiding behind. A wide smile adorned her face and she could feel her pulse swelling in joy. She had found her golden stranger just in time!

Happy with her accomplishment, she sank to her knees, chin to her chest breathing deeply. Taming a desert storm was a work of strong magic. Her song had left her depleted of magic and quite exhausted. Her bones felt dry and hollow. She lay back into the sand and closed her eyes. She could spare a few more moments to rest and regain her strength before she had to head back to the palace.

Her eyes, closed to sight, saw the figure of a handsomely exotic man bathed in the glow of the sun, and she could not help but sigh and smile. He had been so dashing and brave facing the prowler! That morning, she had set out telling herself she was only going to check on him one last time. But seeing him again: awake and so heroic… She knew that tomorrow she would be following after him.


	7. In Search of Sons, Courage, and Identity

**Fairy Tales: rose woven**

**By Pout**

_Disclaimer: Characters are not mine. Apologies if their use in the following is in any way traumatic._

**Chapter 7: In Search of Sons, Courage, and Identity**

"…better _find_ that damn boy and _drag_ him back here this instant!"

With the king's command still reverberating about the throne room, the guard scurried out of the room as fast and inconspicuously as possible.

The queen sat upon her throne beside her outraged husband, ruffling her skirts and rolling her eyes. She was wondering what her boys were up to in their search for brides, but the king was more concerned about one particular son who had managed to hide himself very thoroughly somewhere in the kingdom. Wufei had disappeared three days ago leaving the king and queen to make excuses to the court ladies that aspired to join the family. Despite numerous search parties, the prince was elusive and had managed to evade their every effort. The king was becoming irritated.

The queen watched quietly as her husband grumped and fidgeted angrily. Wufei was filial to the point of rigidity, but this little stunt wasn't entirely unexpected, she decided. He had, after all, grown up with his brothers and it would have been impossible for him not to have picked up some of Heero's independence, Duo's capriciousness, Trowa's honesty, or Quatre's romanticism. And after having spent a great deal of time with the daughter-in-law hopefuls, she had to say that she understood his desire to escape.

Smiling, she remembered the time the boys had been forced to try and play indoors because of an untimely thunderstorm. That was the day Duo had managed to smash a ball through one of the stained-glass windows that lined the throne room. The queen and her ladies had come running after hearing the crash. Without a word, all of her boys had pointed at Duo who, in answer, had scowled and swore never to speak to his brothers ever again. That had only lasted about three hours and by supper Duo was talking a mile a minute, as if trying to make up for lost time. Glancing up at the now repaired window, the queen couldn't help but wonder where her boys were now.

A maid came in to announce that the midday meal was set and the queen was worrying over whether Wufei was eating well enough on his own, when a soldier was announced and came striding in to the throne room. The look on the man's face was transparent enough; he was obviously the unhappy bringer of bad news. A mere glimpse of his countenance put a viselike grip around the queen's heart.

"What is it?" the king asked, coming to his feet and taking a breath to brace himself.

"It's the Tritonstead, Your Highness. There was a storm. The ship is gone, but there are a few survivors."

"The princes," the king urged.

The soldier shook his head. "No signs of either Prince Trowa or Prince Quatre." The queen gave a muffled cry and brought her hands to her lips.

Gasping, the king dropped onto his throne, clutching at the arms of the seat as if clinging to sanity. He shook his head determinedly. "No. My sons are alive. They must be," he insisted.

The soldier looked down, not wanting to see his king and queen so distraught.

"No!" the king declared, jumping to his feet. "They are out there somewhere. The prophet ordered them out to sea. He would not have sent them if this was to be their fate. It's not right—not possible! My boys are alive. I must find them!"

"We are organizing search parties, Your Highness, all along the coast," the soldier said.

The king shook his head. "I must find them," he reiterated. "Gather my guard. We'll leave immediately."

The soldier nodded. "Yes, Your Highness."

The king turned to his wife and took her shaking hands in his own. "I'll find them," he said. "Don't worry. I'll bring them both back."

"My boys!" the queen gasped, tears streaming from her eyes, crying in the fashion that only another mother could fully comprehend. Her heart was sore and the impact of loss was bruising her body until she felt numb with shock.

"Take her to lie down," the king ordered the ladies in waiting. Taking his riding shawl from his attendant, he turned to speak again to his wife: "Rest. I will find them. When I return we will have two sons with us; mark my words." And with that, he strode out of his throne room and embarked on a mission to search for his lost sons.

* * *

A few survivors had confirmed the story: the Tritonstead was destroyed in a storm at sea; both princes presumed lost. The king's men were organizing local search parties. They combed the beaches and took boats out to the waters in search of the missing princes, but so far, there were no signs of either prince. The people were stunned and in disbelief and word was slowly spreading throughout the kingdom. 

Days later, when Wufei heard the news, he was having an afternoon snack at a tavern not too far from the palace. Two men barged through the door and shouted, "Have you heard?! The Tritonstead, it's lost! The princes are dead!"

The bottom of his stomach dropped out at hearing those words. In the absence of a proper emotional response to the declaration, anger came to surface very quickly. But before the youngest prince could move to accost the men, someone else beat him to it. The stout matronly owner of the establishment pinned both unfortunate heralds against the wall. "What are you two raving about? You'd better not be spoutin' off filth in my house."

They shook their heads solemnly and replied, "It's true! They say the Tritonstead was caught in a storm at sea. The ship is wrecked and the crew is almost entirely lost. There were a few survivors, but none among them knows of the whereabouts of the princes. They've vanished! Lost at sea!"

The doors pushed open and a new messenger arrived to confirm the story that was now running rampant through the streets. "Did you hear? About the princes?"

Dropping a few coins on the table, Wufei pushed past the forming crowd and hurried to his horse. He could not believe this. His brothers were not lost; they could not be! But he remembered that night and the oppressive, ominous feeling that had woken him from his sleep not so long ago.

He shook his head and spurred his mount towards the palace. No, if Trowa and Quatre were dead, he would have felt it, would have known it in his bones and blood. Shaking all thoughts from his head, he focused on his first task: getting back home.

* * *

The queen was standing by the great window in her quarters when she heard a rapid knocking upon her door. She had managed to stop the tears, but her eyes were red and her spirit was frightened of what might have happened to her children. Taking a deep breath and clutching her hands to her chest, she dared to hope and called out, "Yes?" One of her ladies in waiting entered and announced that the youngest prince had returned. Thanking the heavens for small blessings, the queen hurried down to meet him. 

"Mother," Wufei called out when he saw her coming down the stairs. She was pale and obviously distraught.

"Wufei!" she cried, embracing him as if he might disappear right before her very eyes.

He felt the guilt of having been absent from her side during such a traumatic emergency, leaving her alone to bear the burden of upholding her station. "I'm sorry," he apologized, but she shook her head adamantly.

"It is good to have you home. You've heard the news." It was a statement rather than a question. "Your father is out looking for them. He says he will not come home until he has found them! They must have washed up on shore somewhere. They must have!"

"They're fine," he replied, willing to do nothing but reaffirm her convictions. "Father will find them and bring them back; don't worry. Have you been eating? Sleeping? You don't look well, mother. You should rest."

She shook her head. "I can't. I have my duties to the throne. There is much to do with your father not present." She paused and let out a rattled breath. "My heart hurts so, Wufei. Your brothers are out there somewhere. God, let them be out there somewhere!"

A guard came up to the two members of the royal family and bowed stiffly and the queen struggled to regain her composure.

"What is it?" she asked, working hard to keep her voice steady and solid.

"Reports are coming in from search parties in the north, Your Highness. The news has spread and the people are worried and uneasy."

His mother's grip tightened on her son's arms.

"I will meet with them," Wufei said. "Direct the men inside. I'll be with them in five minutes."

His mother smiled weakly. "It is good to have you home, Wufei," she whispered, her voice losing strength by the second.

He allowed his mother to give him a kiss on the cheek, then spoke to her ladies, "Take the queen upstairs." They bowed and ushered their queen back to her rooms. Wufei hoped his presence could assuage some of her fears, though he knew he faced those same fears himself.

Striding down the hallways, he steeled himself. Now, with his brothers gone and perhaps missing, and with the king off in search of his lost sons, Wufei, youngest of five princes, was left with the responsibility of being in charge of the kingdom.

He and his brothers had been groomed to take on the duties of serving the state since birth. And though Wufei was not _woefully_ unprepared to be thrust into power, he was unprepared nonetheless. The last in a rather long line of succession, he had never truly considered the possibility that he would need to exercise his power so soon, even in such an indirect capacity. He had always counted on his brothers to share the burden, and with four brothers before him, he had never expected to be left to face the duty alone.

Standing before the closed doors of the meeting chambers, he took a deep breath and looked inside himself for the courage to weather this storm. In a time of crisis such as this, the kingdom needed him, and he resolved to fill the role as best he could until his father and brothers came home.

* * *

It was a few days after the king left the palace that Trowa's memory suddenly returned. 

After days of staying cooped up within the old servant quarters, Sally and Noin had agreed that he would be all right roaming so long as he kept to himself and avoided the city or the towns and their nosy populations. So far, neither Sally nor Noin had heard of any prison escapes or any such indicative reports from their innocent inquiries in town. Thus, they presumed he must be a simple sailor from a wrecked vessel. Until news made it to town, however, they preferred to keep him sequestered in case he did in fact turn out to be some sort of hunted fugitive. Trowa, known as Peter or Jack depending on the speaker, often wondered at the unconditional generosity the girls offered him. After all, if he was a fugitive, it must have been for a reason, yet these two girls trusted his goodness intrinsically. Well, Sally trusted him; Noin was still wisely wary.

On one fairly gentle morning with the sky only partially swaddled in cloudy cover, he went wandering alone, meandering along the fringes of a nearby town. Over the past few days, he had taken to exploring the areas surrounding the manor to occupy his time while the girls toiled for their mistress. Following a path that Sally had suggested, he took a long walk back towards the ocean that had spit him up on land without a memory or a past. Try as he might, he could not discover the mystery of his identity. Perhaps, Sally had proposed, revisiting the sea might trigger some of his memories.

When he reached the beach, the wind had picked up some and the waves that lapped at the rocky edges of the land were developing a frothier white lip. Smelling the salt in the air, practically tasting it on the tip of each breath, the amnesiac felt a tug of recognition.

Taking a seat on the sand, he closed his eyes and just listened. He heard the wind roaring over the ocean to slip in and tangle with the tree line behind him, rattling the branches and leaves it discovered there. He heard the surf breaking against the cliffs, waves pressing up against each other as if attempting to crawl up on shore.

For hours, it seemed, he just sat there listening. The vague feeling of familiarity was coupled with an odd sense of anxiety. It was not fear or panic exactly, but almost like a feeling of vertigo, or of being on the verge of a catastrophe.

Then suddenly, he opened his eyes and saw a crack of lightening illuminating a stormy seascape, striking a lone ship, and splitting it down the center.

Trowa bit his tongue to keep himself from calling out a warning to his brother.

The Tritonstead had been caught in a storm. The ship had been destroyed. Quatre had gone overboard and Trowa had lost him. The memories snapped into sharp focus in his mind's eye and replayed the incident over and over as if to make sure he would never forget again.

But what had happened to his brother since then? If Trowa had made it to shore, there was a good chance Quatre had as well. If he hadn't been too seriously injured or had not inconveniently lost his memories, then Quatre would have headed straight back home.

Jumping to his feet, the third prince turned and headed back into the woods. Trowa needed to get back to the palace as soon as possible.

* * *

Sally had just finished preparing a bath for one of her ridiculous stepsisters. Her muscles ached from both an old lashing and the strain of having to carry buckets of steaming water up the stairs because her family was too lazy to come down _just_ to get properly washed. 

She was coming back down the stairs when she noticed a shadow in the doorway. Cautiously, she walked into the room only to find her mysterious patient standing there, obviously waiting for her. A smile spread across her face, though she should have scolded him for coming out where anyone in the house could discover him, but the smile suddenly faded and her brows came together as she looked at him.

There was something different about the man. The way he stood there, the weight of his stare, the manner in which he held his head so proud, so regally. "Peter?" she asked quietly, tilting her head to the side in confusion. In her heart, she knew he was leaving.

"My memory has returned," he said simply. His tone, at least, was as it had always been: firm and confident, but gentle with no pretentious edge to it at all. "I must return. Thank you for everything you have done for me, you and Noin." He paused as if to allow her to speak, question him if necessary, but she was unable to put coherent thoughts together other than to remind herself over and over that she had always known he would leave. "I must go." She merely nodded acceptingly. "Tell Noin that I am grateful for her friendship and care." Again, Sally nodded, gradually numbing inside.

She fully expected him to turn then and walk out the door and disappear. It was to her surprise that she watched him take the three brisk steps that brought him to her side. Gently, he pressed a chaste kiss to the top of her head. "Thank you, Sally, for everything." She managed to smile back at him. "Be good." And with those last words, he walked out the door and out of her life. It was only later, when Noin discovered her sobbing silently in the corner of their room, that she realized she had never asked the man's name.

If the Madame had not learned of Sally and Noin's disobedient behavior and unforgivable act of aiding and harboring a stow-away at the manor, she would not have grounded them, forbidding them to take a single step out of the confines of the manor walls. And if they had not been grounded, perhaps they would have heard from the gossips in town that the ship carrying the two princes had sunk somewhere among the waves and that their Prince Trowa, third son to the king, had miraculously resurfaced only days after his father had set off in search of him. But the Madame _had_ learned of their transgressions and so Sally and Noin never knew that the man they had sheltered had, in fact, been a prince.


	8. Returns

**Fairy Tales: rose woven**

**By Pout**

_Disclaimer: Characters are not mine. Apologies if their use in the following is in any way traumatic._

**Chapter 8: Returns**

Wufei's feet pounded the steps as he raced down the stairs towards the front entrance. Sliding to a halt at the doors, his smile was strained as he came face to face with his previously-assumed-missing older brother. Feeling a fraction of his burden lift from his shoulders, he gave Trowa a quick embrace, then ushered him into the palace. Trowa's long awaited return could not have been more welcome in this situation that was verging on catastrophe.

"Tell me everything, Wufei," Trowa said as he followed his younger brother into their home. "It seems you've had some difficulties," he observed, noting that neither his mother nor father had come to greet him upon his return. "Tell me, has Quatre returned?"

At that, Wufei's stride halted and he turned to face his brother. He shook his head and his mouth turned further downward, his eyes frowning as well. "I was hoping you would know where he was."

Trowa closed his eyes and buried his grief. It was much too early to sway from hope to despair. "No. I have no news."

Wufei nodded his understanding and continued to lead the way, his happiness at seeing his brother now returning to worry for other matters. He was leading them to the queen's quarters with haste, which Trowa made note of immediately. Wufei began to explain the state of things: "Word arrived less than a week ago that the Tritonstead had been caught in a storm and destroyed. A few survivors made it to shore and related the story, but when neither you nor Quatre turned up, father left the palace in search of you, vowing not to return until he brought both of you home." They had reached the second floor landing, when Wufei abruptly stopped in his tracks, turning to face his brother, his countenance solemn and grave. "A few nights ago, one of the riders in father's party returned with news." Trowa's brows lifted with hope, but Wufei shook his head. "Father has disappeared."

The meaning of those words failed to register in Trowa's mind. He shook his head, "I don't understand."

The muscles in Wufei's jaws clenched tightly, but he forced himself to relay the unhappy news. "They were covering the woodlands at the southwestern border. Something spooked the horses and the group scattered. Father's personal guards lost sight of him. By the time everyone had regrouped, father was nowhere in sight."

Trowa made no gesture of affirmation but Wufei knew he had been heard. His brother was gradually accepting the information that had been given him, but it was a lot to handle, especially since he had been so elated to finally be returning home not two hours before. To have gone from relief to apprehension in such a short time was difficult and his natural defense had reared up to shield him: silence.

At last, Trowa responded: "You're saying that father is lost as well now?"

Wufei frowned tightly and nodded his chin in a simple, concise movement that echoed his tightly wound worry. "The rest of the camp is searching for him, obviously, but I don't know what good that will do. I've sent a contingent to check the camp, make sure this isn't some ploy to take over the throne. It's true that we're at our most vulnerable, what with the king out frolicking about the countryside and most of the princes out of the kingdom or missing; it would have been a prime time to strike."

Trowa's heart had sped up. Adrenaline was already coursing through his veins. "How could he just disappear?" he demanded.

Wufei just shook his head, showing that his own sentiments ran along the same track of utter disbelief.

Trowa's eyes shifted to the heavy doors before them that led to the queen's chambers. "And mother?" Trowa asked.

"She's taken it badly. She's been resting in her chambers as often as I can persuade her to do so, but mostly she continues giving orders to keep the palace running smoothly or stands by the windows in the library, just waiting. She's resting now, however. I think she'll be very happy to see you."

And she was. The queen threw her arms around her third son and cried unabashedly. She checked him over for wounds and bruises and when satisfied that his afflictions had been tended to properly, she held his hands and would not let go.

Wufei smiled a genuine smile, noting that the queen's color had already improved dramatically. Unfortunately, a knock on the door signaled that there was yet work to be done. He stood and kissed his mother, told Trowa where he would be, then politely took his leave.

When the younger brother had gone, the queen smiled proudly. "Oh, he's been so wonderful, Trowa. With your brothers gone, Quatre lost, your father missing… Wufei's had to take care of everything and he's done such an outstanding job of it. I've been sure to praise him for it, it's such a thankless job, but that boy is steadfastly modest in some respects…"

"And unrepentantly proud in others," Trowa finished.

"It is a wonderful omen that you have returned to us safe and sound." The queen let out a shaky breath. "I've missed you, my son," she said, tears shimmering in her eyes again.

Trowa kissed her cheek and replied, "It is very good to be back, mother." He had missed home and had been craving this reunion, but the news that Wufei had relayed to him earlier was raising the alarm in his head. He sensed that this storm was preparing to throw him another obstacle, and he was itching to face it as soon as possible.

* * *

The next morning, as sunlight was peeking over the crest of the mountain ridge that covered the eastern horizon, Trowa could be found in the private dining chambers of the royal family. The queen was with him, both mother and son enjoying a peaceful breakfast before Trowa left to head a search party in the south. The night before, Trowa and Wufei had decided that the younger brother would continue his operation from the palace grounds while the older would go out in search of their missing family. 

The meal was a quiet one; the queen knew that was how Trowa preferred things and she had little to say that wasn't a sigh or a sob. She was just happy to see her son home again. She would not relish seeing him leave a second time, but there were things even a mother could not ask for from her son. The queen could see Trowa's itch to leave. He was worried, and though Trowa was never rash or impulsive, he was also not one to wait when trouble was imminent.

His relief came soon enough.

The door burst open. "It's father! They've spotted him coming down fast out of the Royal Forest. He should be here soon!" Without waiting for a reply, Wufei turned and raced for the main gates, his mother and brother on his heels.

The royals and a number of their men stood waiting anxiously by the gates. Together, they waited for the king to return. "Something's wrong," Trowa declared when the king finally rode into view.

The king's horse was galloping full-speed towards the palace with its rider – obviously not in control – somehow managing to hang on as they raced down the road. Even from a distance, the horse looked wild, almost rabid with fear. The charger came racing over the final hill with all the sensibility of a frightened rabbit, and people scurried to make way for the reckless beast as it stampeded towards them. It was plain to see that the steed would never stop willingly, for the king, somehow still clutching to the horse's back, was slumped over in the saddle, unconscious.

When the horse was close enough for all to hear its panicky breaths, panting as if it had run for centuries, one man stepped forward cautiously but skillfully. He captured the slack reins in his fist and engaged in a struggle of force with the war-horse that was determined to stomp over him in order to continue its maddened flight. Through calm commands, soft words, and a good deal of cultivated patience, Trowa was finally able to steady the petrified steed. "Shush," the prince coaxed as the horse tossed its mane feverishly. With the horse under a relative sense of control, the prince moved on to attend his father.

As the prince shook him, the unconscious king's frightened eyes flickered open. Pupils adjusting and focusing, the old king gave a distressed groan of both fear and pain as he recognized the sight before him. "My son!" His whispering rasp seemed to condemn. "Not my son!" he begged as he rolled from his saddle into the arms of the Silent Prince.


End file.
